


A Kiss for the Irishman

by Magfreak, yankeecountess



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magfreak/pseuds/Magfreak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankeecountess/pseuds/yankeecountess
Summary: A Modern AU story. Sybil meets a handsome stranger in a bar far from home and gets into the spirit of St. Patrick's Day. What happens the day after, when they find themselves on an airplane for eight hours.





	1. The Kiss

As she pushed her way to the bar, Sybil Crawley wondered whether the crowd was breaking some sort of fire code. Surely this tiny pub was not made for this many people.

Gwen had told her over and over that St. Patrick's Day in Chicago was something everyone had to experience. So when Sybil made plans to visit her best friend—currently a third-year graduate student in economics at the University of Chicago—she decided to go in the middle of March and see just what all the fuss was about.

The parade in the morning had been fun. During their walk along the Chicago River, the green dye that had turned the water a bright shade of green was an endless source of amusement for Gwen, but barely registered with Sybil. A lover of old architecture, Sybil was too busy admiring the city's famed old skyscrapers, some of which had been built to be best-admired from the river's banks.

For the evening's entertainment, the two young women along with Gwen's classmate Thomas, also from England, headed up to Lakeview to bar hop along Clark Street. Thomas and Gwen liked that area of town because of its proximity to the city's gay neighborhood, where it was their custom to go dance off the alcohol after a night of drinking so Thomas could be "among his people," as he liked to joke.

The three Brits loved people watching among so many inebriated Americans, but the waitress was not coming by often enough to suit them. So Sybil took it upon herself to head to the bar for the next round. She'd spotted an opening on the bar from a few yards away and tried to push through the crowd to get there before someone stepped in. She was a step away when a man came up next to her, clearly with his eye on the spot as well.

Sybil turned to see a pair of remarkable blue eyes. He tilted his head, causing his dirty blonde hair to fall onto his forehead a bit. He pushed it back with his hand. Sybil wasn't sure, but she thought her mouth might have fallen open.

Is that that why he's smiling?

No. it was because he was pointing at the bar, offering the spot to her—what the initial head tilt was meant to imply—and she was too busy looking at those eyes to notice.

"Right," she said blushing.

He grinned, but she was stepping in front of him and rolling her eyes at herself, so again she didn't notice.

She stepped up and after getting the bartender's attention ordered three beers.

The bartender winked at her when he brought the beers over. "Fifteen dollars, sweetness."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "You know that beer isn't actually green in Ireland."

"Just getting into the spirit of things," the bartender said.

"There's more to the Irish than green is all I'm saying," Sybil replied, digging in her handbag for her cash. "Oh, bugger."

"What is it, honey?" The bartender asked, getting annoyed.

"Well, I've got only British pounds here. I've run out of dollars. Can I go back to my table and get it from my friends?"

"Listen, cupcake, do you see how busy it is here? Do you think I have time to chase after you if you take the beer and don't come back?"

"Can you just send our waitress for it, then?"

"I'll get it."

Sybil turned to see the eyes stepping in beside her, where space had just opened up. Before Sybil could protest he handed the bartender three five-dollar bills.

"No tip?" The bartender taking the cash.

"I don't think the lady appreciated being called cupcake."

The bartender rolled his eyes. "So what are you drinking, Romeo?"

"Guinness."

The bartender pulled out the glass, poured the beer and brought it over. Sybil watched as the eyes took another couple of bills out and set them on the bar. He took a drink then looked over at her.

"You're English."

"You're Irish. And you didn't have to do that. Pay for my drinks, I mean."

He smiled and shrugged. "Think of it as a St. Paddy's Day present."

"I have to say it seems the Americans celebrate it with a bit more gusto than we do on our side of the pond."

"Go big or go home, I think is the saying."

Sybil laughed. "Go drunk or go home, more like."

"I won't be offended by drunken antics on this day so long as it's good Irish alcohol being consumed," he said. Then, nodding at the three glasses sitting in front of her, he added, "I'm afraid Miller Lite with green dye in it doesn't count."

Sybil crinkled her nose. "My budget is a bit tight, unfortunately. I'm on holiday visiting my friend and I head back home tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah? Me too."

"What were you doing in Chicago?"

"My brother got married here yesterday. They live in Dublin, but his girlfr—I mean his wife is from here so the wedding was here."

"A wedding on St. Patrick's Day weekend? I hope she didn't make the bridesmaids wear green."

Tom laughed. "She did! Though I believe the color was called 'seafoam.' "

"Oh my."

They looked at each other, smiling, for a few minutes. Sybil bit her lip in a way he found impossibly adorable. Adorable like the way her fringe fell over her lovely blue eyes was adorable. Adorable like the way messy tendrils of her curly hair fell around her head from the messy bun it was in on the top of her head was adorable. Eventually, the smile on his face faded slightly and his friendly expression was replaced by something else altogether. Sybil could feel her heart start to race.

"I, um . . . I should be getting back to my friends," she said.

"OK," he said, smiling again, a bit sheepishly. "Well, it was nice talking to you."

He turned to walk away. Sybil's shoulders drooped a bit.

Why can't I flirt like a normal person?

She turned to the bar to pick up the three beers and noticed a stack of stickers. They were green with white lettering and read, "Kiss me, I'm Irish!"

She picked one up, quickly pulled off the backing and went after the eyes, who'd only taken a few steps, slowed down by the thick crowd. She pulled his arm to turn him around, slapped the sticker on his chest, and, grabbing his face with both hands, pulled him into what she would tell her children and grandchildren was the best kiss two perfect strangers thousands of miles from home have ever had.

It took him by surprise, but he responded immediately, pulling her into him so tightly a little of his Guinness spilled onto the back of her T-shirt.

After several minutes, they finally pulled apart, both of them out of breath. Sybil, slowly and reluctantly, stepped out of the circle of his arms. She picked up the beers and walking by him again said, "Happy St. Patrick's Day."

He looked down to his chest to see the sticker and laughed. He lifted his glass and said, to no one in particular, "Happy St. Patrick's Day," then headed back to his table.

On the other side of the pub, Gwen saw Sybil coming and stood to grab the beers from her. "What took so long?"

"I was busy snogging the man of my dreams."

Gwen and Thomas laughed.

Sybil hadn't expected them to believe her, but she didn't mind. It wasn't the kind of thing she usually did. She lifted her glass. "To St. Patrick's Day in Chicago."

Thomas and Gwen lifted their glasses and yelled, "Cheers!"

Sybil took a big pull and wondered if getting drunk would help slow down her still racing heart.

XXX

Tom was a bit bleary eyed from the drinking the night before as he ran through the airport to make it onto his plane.

When Kieran's new in-laws had offered to pay for his tickets, the starving journalist in him wasn't too proud to accept. He had told them a first-class ticket wasn't necessary, but they'd insisted, and on this morning, when he could look forward to the better food, a softer seat and extra leg room, he was grateful.

Anna and John, two of his and Kieran's friends who'd also flown from London for the wedding, had had the brilliant idea of staying up and enjoying Chicago's nightlife before heading to the airport in the morning. Of course, they didn't have to be at O'Hare for several more hours. He was the only one drinking before a 8:30 a.m. flight. The pounding of his head wanted him to regret it. The tingling he still felt on his lips wouldn't let him.

He saw the ticket agent's eyes widen and sigh with relief when he stepped up to the now empty boarding area. "You just made it, Mr. Branson."

"How did you know it was me?" He said, trying to catch his breath as he handed over his boarding pass.

The agent scanned it and handed it back to him. "Full flight. You're the last one."

He took the boarding pass back and headed down the jetway. The flight attendant greeted him brightly and took his ruck sack as he stepped onto the plane. He walked to his seat and, on seeing his seatmate, Tom Branson might have promised God that he'd go to church every Sunday for the rest of his life.

It was her.

"Oh, my God!" She exclaimed.

Hearing her, the attendant came over. "Is everything all right?"

They grinned at one another and their extraordinary luck.

"Everything is perfect," Tom said quietly.

He sat down and fastened his seatbelt.

"I see you still have the sticker," she said, pointing to his jacket.

He smiled. "My friend moved it there from my shirt. You never know when it might come in handy." He leaned into her and whispered. "This may be hard to believe, but beautiful women don't usually just kiss me out of nowhere."

Sybil blushed. "I'm Sybil. Sybil Crawley."

Tom put out his hand. "Tom Branson."

She took his hand, but after shaking it, she didn't let go.

"So, Tom, did you have a good St. Patrick's Day."

He smiled and, turning her hand in his, ran his thumb over her knuckles. "The best."


	2. The Take-Off

 

As the plane began to taxi away from the gate, the flight attendant approached Tom again, bending over slightly to speak.

"Good morning, Mr. Branson, may I take your coat?"

Tom let go of Sybil's hand to slip out of his jacket and hand it to the petite blonde woman.

"May I get you some orange juice or coffee? I can also make you a bloody Mary or a mimosa, if you're feeling so inclined," she said, giving him a wink on mentioning the cocktails.

Just the thought of alcohol made Tom's stomach turn, and the distaste showed in his expression, making Sybil snicker.

He narrowed his eyes at her, then turned back to the flight attendant. "Orange juice and coffee, please. No cream, no sugar."

"My name's Edna. Just buzz if you need anything," she said, pointing to the call button above his head.

She was about to turn to go, when Sybil called out, "Oh, Edna? I know I said no before, but could I have a coffee also? Two sugars and cream—or soy milk if you have it."

Edna nodded curtly and went back to the front to get their drinks.

"I think she likes you," Sybil said with a smile.

"What makes you say that?"

"She didn't offer _me_ a cocktail, to start. And she didn't lean over quite so suggestively when taking my order."

"Are you jealous?" He asked playfully.

"Well, I've only known you about ten minutes, but I already know you have a history of kissing women you've just met."

"I don't, actually. It's just been you."

Sybil blushed, which made him smile. "Nevertheless," she said, elongating the word. "I feel the need to assert myself."

Tom's brow furrowed. "How would you do that?"

Seeing Edna approach out of the corner of his eye, Tom was about to turn to receive his order, when he felt Sybil's left hand on his face turning him back toward her and—not unlike she'd done at the bar the night before—pulling him into another kiss.

Edna cleared her throat loudly, clearly annoyed. Tom pulled away, then turned and took his orange juice and coffee with a sheepish smile.

Sybil's expression was a bit more self-satisfied than Tom's as she reached over him and took her coffee. "Thanks, Ed!" she said brightly.

The flight attendant left without a word.

"That ought to do it," she said, winking at him as she took a sip of her coffee.

He laughed. "This is going to be a long flight."

"Are you complaining about my kissing you?"

"God no. I'm complaining about having to be on this plane for eight hours and not be able to do much more than kiss."

"If you think _that_ , then you're not as adventurous as I was hoping."

Tom had just taken a sip of the orange juice, and hearing her proceeded to spit it out onto the screen on the back of the seat in front of him. Such was Sybil's laughter at the display that tears formed in her eyes. The passenger in front of Tom peaked over the seat with an irritated look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir, that was my fault," Sybil said, apologetically.

"It really was," Tom added, earning him an elbow from Sybil.

The passenger rolled his eyes and faced forward again, as the safety message began playing.

Tom and Sybil looked at one another as they tried to hold back their laughter. Sybil took her napkin to wipe the juice off Tom's screen.

Tom took another big gulp of his orange juice. "I don't mean anything by this, but when I first saw you at the bar, I didn't peg you for the . . . well, the _adventurous_ type."

"That's because I'm not really," Sybil said with a shy shrug of her shoulders. "The friends I was with didn't even believe me when I told them I'd just snogged someone."

"So you didn't just suggest we have a shag in the airplane toilet?"

"Oh, I did. But I've never done that before, neither have I ever kissed a man I've known only three minutes, nor propositioned one on an airplane. I'm a rather boring person, as it happens."

Tom raised an eyebrow at her. "So what, I bring it out in you?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "I'm not totally turning you off am I?"

"For you, I don't think that's physically possible."

Tom lifted his hand to her cheek and caressed her face with his thumb. He leaned in a pulled her into a kiss. After a few delicious seconds, he said, "See, I can do it too."

They were about to lean in again, when the captain's voice came on over the loudspeaker.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is the captain speaking from the flight deck. We're currently next in line for take off on our way to London's Heathrow, so please make sure your seat belts are securely fastened. Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff."

Tom pulled away from Sybil and took his orange juice, downing the rest in a single pull. He sat back in his seat and grabbed both arm rests tightly.

Sybil watched him curiously. "Are you afraid of flying?"

He smiled nervously. "No, just the take off bit."

Sybil smiled, endeared. She pried his left hand from the armrest between them and slipped her hand into his, interlacing their fingers. "I'll save you if anything happens," she whispered.

"Promise?"

She nodded and lifting the armrest between them, leaned into his shoulder. Tom kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes as the plane began to speed into its ascent.

"Now we just have to wait for the 'ding,' " Sybil said.

"Wait for what?"

"You know, Say Anything."

Tom pulled back to look her in the face. "I'm a bit lost here."

"Haven't you seen the movie Say Anything?"

Tom shook his head.

"Well, we'll have to watch it when we're home," she said, leaning back into him. He smiled at how easily she assumed they'd be in each other's lives beyond today.

Sybil, not even having noticed what she'd said, went on, "It's from ages ago. It's got John Cusack and Ione Skye. He's this directionless bloke that falls in love with the cleverest girl in the class, and at the end they move to England where she's going to uni, but she's afraid of flying so when they're on the plane he says everything's OK once you hear the ding."

"I still don't know what the ding is."

"It's when the pilot turns off the seal belt sign, and . . . " she trailed off suggestively.

Tom, getting her meaning, completed her thought. "And you're allowed to get up from your seat, and . . . "

"And go to the lavatory. You know, if the urge strikes."

" _Something's_ striking, all right" he said, bringing their intertwined hands to his lips and kissing the tips of her fingers.

Sybil giggled. _Would they really do it?_


	3. "You are now free to move about the cabin"

"You are now free to move about the cabin"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign, which means you are now free to move about the cabin. However, we do ask that while you are in your seats you keep your seatbelt securely fastened in case we meet with any unexpected turbulence."

Without a word, Sybil stood and stepped over Tom.

"Now?" He asked quietly. "I mean, already."

"Do you want to wait?" She asked, leaning over him and tossing her scarf into her seat.

He smiled. "Not at all."

He watched as she walked into the lavatory, appreciating the fit of her skinny jeans. She winked at him as she opened the door just before stepping into it. His eyes looked up to the light above the door, which immediately turned red to show the loo was occupied. His eyes stayed trained on the light, and sure enough a few minutes later it turned green again.

Except Sybil did not come out.

Tom looked around the first class section. The passengers who were not hiding behind newspapers were asleep. As casually as he could, trying not to draw attention to himself, Tom stood up and walked to the lavatory Sybil had stepped into. He put his hand on the knob and took a deep breath before pushing it open.

XXX

6 ½ minutes earlier

The first thing Sybil saw when she entered the lavatory was the mirror above the sink. She caught her reflection and held it as the door slid shut behind her.

Oh my God. Am I actually going to be doing this?

Her face quickly began to glow a dark red, but a wicked smile full of mischief spread across her face, and soon her hands were covering it, muffling her squeal. Yes, she really was going to be doing this! She and Tom "the Eyes" Branson were about to become members of the notorious "Mile High Club."

Where had this side of her come from? Sybil couldn't believe it; she doubted her friends would believe it. After all, hadn't she just told Tom that they hadn't believed her when she'd told them about their kiss? Kissing a perfect stranger (full on, no-holds-barred snogging to be precise) was just something she didn't do! And now here she was . . . seducing this man she barely knew—but whom she had referred to as "the man of my dreams"—and purposefully trying to lure him into joining her into the tiny lavatory to have sex with her barely an hour after meeting him!

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She had met him last night. And there was something else. She wasn't a big believer in or proponent of the whole idea of "soul mates," but the connection she felt with Tom—it felt so much stronger than simple "lust."

Last night she had tossed and turned in bed, thinking about him, remembering every beautiful and vivid detail of that kiss they had shared, how soft and warm and firm his lips had felt, and his tongue . . . oh God, the memory caused her knees to quiver even now. But she also remembered how sad she had felt, as well. The likelihood of seeing him again was extremely slim; in fact, she had doubted she ever would. It was a brief encounter meant to give her cause for a wistful smile whenever she thought back to her trip to Chicago or whenever St. Patrick's Day rolled around.

And yet fate, it would seem, had other plans.

Not only was he here, sitting next to her on this long flight back to London, but the spark they had discovered last night was clearly not one brought on by holiday revelry or alcohol. No, that spark had grown; it was kindling and threatening to become a wildfire, and standing in the airplane lavatory Sybil realized how desperately she wanted to be scorched.

"I'm a rather boring person, as it happens . . ."

Well, after today, she couldn't really say that about herself anymore, now could she?

"Oh, Lord," she muttered, bringing a hand up to her mouth and quickly checking her breath. She had brushed her teeth before leaving for the airport. The lighting in the loo was horrible, though. That ugly fluorescent light always brought out the worst about a person's features. Her pores suddenly looked huge, and was her face shiny due to nervous perspiration? She looked down at herself and frowned at her shirt; it wasn't the sexiest piece of clothing she had owned, but then again, she hadn't considered meeting the man of her dreams again on the flight home. She bit her lip and looked at her hair, which hung down her shoulders, but looked rather limp and dull in this light.

Heavens, maybe this wasn't such a good idea?

And just how in the world did all those people who claimed to be members of this oh-so-exclusive club, manage to do it in this tiny space? There was barely room for her to stand, let alone—

Sybil's eyes widened as she suddenly saw, reflected in the mirror, the handle to the loo's door turning. She turned then and pressed herself as flatly as she could against the bathroom sink, her breath catching in her throat, as finally . . . the door opened, and Tom's amazing, sexy blue eyes, came into view.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat, then two, their chests rising and falling in anticipation.

By the third, her arms were reaching out towards him, and his hand moved with lightening speed, cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her lips towards his in a sudden, urgent kiss that not only robbed her of her breath, but she swore caused her heart to stop.

The door clicked shut behind him.

XXX

Tom didn't really know what to expect when he opened that door. His palms were sweating in nervous anticipation, and with each step he took towards the lavatory, he could feel his body growing tenser, while his breathing continued to quicken.

He had told himself as soon as he rose from his seat to not hesitate, to not stand outside that door and linger. The last thing he wanted, the last thing either of them wanted or needed, was for some nosy passenger or flight attendant to take notice of him hovering around an airplane toilet.

So with one big deep breath, he gripped the handle and turned it.

The door slid open.

And there she stood.

Her eyes were wide as they stared back at him. He felt his breath catch as he gazed into them, blue and shimmering. Her dark brown hair billowed around her shoulders, and for a moment Tom tried to imagine that hair spread across a pillow, more specifically, spread across his pillow. Her chest was rising and falling in quick breaths, and his eyes couldn't help but be drawn to it. The shirt she wore was simple, with red and white stripes and a scoop neck—and yet Tom found it to be one of the sexiest pieces of clothing he had ever seen on a woman. His eyes flew back to her face, and he noticed how her lips—her beautiful, full, pink lips—parted slightly, as if she were about to speak his name. And suddenly all he wanted to hear, all he yearned to hear, was her gasping and moaning his name in nothing but the sweetest pleasure.

He moved then, his hand reaching out just as she lifted her arms for him. His arm snaked around the back of her head until he was cupping it in his palm, pulling her towards him, just as he felt her hands grip the fabric of his shirt and pull him further into the lavatory, the door clicking shut behind him as soon as their lips fused together in another mind-blowing kiss that caused him to see fireworks behind his eyelids.

The space was tinier than he had expected. It was virtually impossible for two people to remain standing, but Tom took care of that problem as his hands moved down her body, sliding down her back, until they were cupping her bottom, causing Sybil to gasp and giggle and then let out a little squeal as he lifted her off lavatory floor and placed her directly on the sink.

"Oh my!" Sybil gasped, blushing and looking at him, her eyes dark and her lips swollen from their kiss. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

Tom felt his face flush, but he found himself smiling and shaking his head. "You seem to bring out my adventurous side too," he confessed. She giggled, and he grinned, before moving in again, one hand cupping her face, his fingers once again tangling in her hair. His other hand moved to the small of her back, his fingers moving under her shirt and caressing the skin beneath. Soft and smooth, just as he had expected, but it thrilled him to feel, and even more so to hear her pleasured moan as she eagerly returned his kiss.

Sybil had woven her arms around his neck, and now that she was on the sink, her legs were also weaving around his body, pulling him even closer as they kissed. She gasped as his lips began to move away from hers, causing her to whimper as she felt them leave kisses across her jaw, to her neck, pausing to nibble and suck the skin at her pulse-point. Oh God, he was amazing! All he had done was kiss her, and yet she was on fire! She honestly couldn't recall the last time she had felt like this. Was it the excitement of doing something so taboo as making love on an airplane? No . . . no, there was more to it than that.

Tom couldn't get enough of her. He loved the taste of her lips, and now the taste of her skin was just as intoxicating. A thrill ran down his spine as he heard her whimper and moan in pleasure while his lips and tongue and teeth tantalized the flesh of her neck and throat. Oh God, the things he would do to hear her make more of those delicious sounds. For such activities he would need a proper bed, as well as several long, uninterrupted hours where he wouldn't have to worry about the possibility of someone impatiently knocking on a door to get inside. He vowed to himself right then and there, that this would not be their last encounter. No, if fate continued to smile down on him after bringing the two of them together again, he would make sure that they had many, many more encounters.

Sybil's fingers were kneading the flesh of his shoulders, loving how firm and muscular they felt. She always had a thing for guys with broad shoulders, and Tom did not disappoint. She wanted to feel more, though, and began making busy work of tugging at the flannel top he was wearing, as well as the t-shirt that was on beneath it.

Tom paused in his kisses as he felt her tug at his shirt, pulling it so far that it was now bunched beneath his arms. "Sybil?" he couldn't help but laugh as she continued to tug. "Um . . . do we . . . have time for this?" He wanted nothing more than to feel her skin against his, but at the same time, he knew coming in here, this was not going to be the long and languid lovemaking session he had just been vowing to himself to have with her after they landed. Still, he didn't fight her as she continued tugging, and soon his shirt (both the flannel and the t-shirt) were off and lying in a heap at his feet.

"Oh, wow . . ." she murmured, her hands moving back to his shoulders, her fingers now making contact with the skin. Tom closed his eyes and moaned as he felt her caress him, enjoying the feeling of her soft, sweet fingers on his flesh…and imagining them all over his body. Indeed, the thought made his jeans feel even more constricted, if that were possible. "Do you work out?" she asked coyly.

Tom opened his eyes and looked back at Sybil who was grinning up at him, a shy, pretty blush on her cheeks, and a flirtatious smile on her lips. Her teeth bit her bottom lip in such a way that he couldn't suppress the growl that emerged from his throat, and he moved in again, capturing her lips once more, sucking her bottom lip between his, while his tongue caressed it, before caressing her own.

Sybil whimpered and sighed, her mouth opening even more, wanting to taste more of him, wanting to be consumed by him. Her fingers continued kneading the flesh, marveling in the firm, hard muscles of his shoulders and back, moving and sliding up and down his arms, caressing the powerful muscles of his biceps and forearms that were keeping a firm hold on her body, locking her between the bathroom mirror and the masculine wall of his chest.

One of his hands, which was already under her shirt, found the snaps of her bra, and Sybil gasped as she felt his fingers run across it and toy with it. She couldn't help but giggle as she began to feel his hands pull on the ends of her shirt. "Would you . . ." she managed to gasp between kisses. " . . . like some help?"

He lifted his head slightly, a blush on his face that she couldn't help but find adorable. "Well . . . I do feel a little underdressed."

She laughed and lifted her arms up, just as he had done, and soon he had pulled her shirt up and over her head, and like his, it joined the pile on the floor.

Her bra wasn't anything fancy. Had this been an actual date where she thought the two of them would be going back to someone's place, she would have worn something made of lace or satin. Instead, it was a simple white cotton bra, the sort that was designed to feel comfortable, not sexy. And yet the way Tom looked at her, the fire in his eyes, the intense heat and passion that she saw darkening in their depths—Sybil suddenly found herself feeling like a Victoria Secret model. Without another moment's hesitation, she reached behind her back and unsnapped the bra, quickly pulling the straps down and tossing it to the clothing pile on the floor.

The fire in his eyes only seemed to grow stronger as he took in the sight of her naked breasts, rising and falling in anticipation. She was perfect. Everything about her was just . . . perfect.

Sybil couldn't help but squirm slightly under his gaze. It was so intense, and in a way it unnerved her. She couldn't recall any past lover ever looking at her like that. She was even beginning to feel a little self-conscious, and she shyly began to cover herself up. However, Tom hands, gentle and strong, touched her arms to stop her. His eyes met hers again, and there was a smile on his face as well as a look of awe and wonder. "Beautiful . . ." he whispered, his hand now rising to caress the skin of her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. "So beautiful . . ."

He made her feel beautiful, even in this tiny, ugly fluorescent-lit bathroom; he made her feel gorgeous.

She reached for him then, her hands moving around his shoulders to his back, pulling him back to her, her lips fusing once again with his, but not before a gasp escaped them as she felt the flesh of their chests touch at last. Tom gasped as well, the soft satiny skin of her breasts pressed against his body. Yes, yes, he most definitely needed a long, uninterrupted day during which he could make love to her and just bask in the feel of her body and all its soft, mouth-watering curves, pressed against his own.

One hand ran up and down the flesh of her back. The other, which had been caressing her cheek, began to move down her body, sliding along the skin, pausing at last when it reached the swell of her breast. Sybil's lips tore away from his to let out a delighted gasp as she felt his hand cup her flesh and his thumb run across her nipple. Tom didn't hesitate, he bent his head then so he could take the sweet bud between his lips and flick his tongue across the hardened flesh. Sybil hugged his head to her chest, her fingers tangling in his hair, as she arched her back to offer more of her breast to his mouth.

His mouth moved to the other breast, and while he suckled her, his hands were already moving further down her body until they reached the snap of her jeans. "Yes . . ." Sybil moaned, feeling his hands at her waistband. She lifted her hips up off the sink as best she could, trying to help Tom in pulling her jeans down. His lips returned to hers once again, and from this angle, Sybil was able to reach for the snaps of his jeans, and made quick work of undoing them.

Tom chuckled as he felt Sybil tug at his jeans. "Eager, are we?" he couldn't help but tease.

She gave him a look, which only made him chuckle more. "And you're not?" she teased back. A wicked smile spread across her face, and without warning, she pushed her hand down his jeans, passed the waistband of his underwear, until her fingers came into full contact with his hardened flesh.

"Holy fuck!" he gasped as he felt her fingers cup his erection. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as his language, and he looked at her apologetically, but Sybil only seemed to be grinning . . . and then she moaned—she moaned—as her fingers wrapped around the throbbing flesh was aching for release from its clothed prison.

"Oh Tom," she gasped, her hand running up and down his cock. She couldn't see it yet, but from the feel of him, it was safe to say that the man was well endowed.

"Careful," he groaned as her fingers continued to torture him. "I'm already on fire for you, Sybil, and I don't want this to end before we start."

She grinned and reluctantly removed her hand, but only so far as to help push his jeans and briefs down his hips, finally freeing his aching erection. Yes, if she needed picture proof, she had it; Tom Branson was most definitely well endowed.

"My turn," he growled against her neck, kissing her pulse point again as his hands once more began tugging her jeans down her hips. Sybil whimpered and leaned her head back against the mirror, once again lifting herself off the sink just a little, to help him tug. Just as she had done with him, Tom also moved the waistband of her knickers down, but not before teasing her just a little, his hand cupping her between her legs, causing her eyes to fly open and a loud gasp to escape her lips.

"TOM!" she gasped, as his fingers touched her in the most intimate of places. She was sensitive and wet, and there was a tight ache spreading from her core throughout her entire body.

"Shhhh," he chuckled, his lips moving back to hers to cover her gasps. "Don't want to raise suspicions," he teased, although in truth, hearing her gasp and moan his name like that was the biggest turn-on. Yes, not only did he want to spread her out on a bed and make love to her for long, unending hours, but he wanted the freedom to be as loud as they liked.

She kissed him and he swallowed those pleasured whimpers as his fingers teased her body, one caressing her slit, before slipping, moving in and out of her, groaning at the wetness that covered his hand, before moving the finger up to touch her clit, causing her to shake and shiver against him.

"Tom," she moaned against his mouth. "Now, please . . . I . . . I don't want to wait anymore . . . "

He didn't either. God, he wanted her so much, ever since she sat down next to him—no, before then; ever since she kissed him last night, ever since he first laid eyes on her. Did it really matter? No, because here they both were, doing something he never imagined himself doing, and with the most extraordinary woman, one who didn't feel like a stranger to him, but rather . . . like a missing half. A part of him that he had never realized was lost, until now that he had found her.

Tom broke away from her only long enough to remove the condom from his back pocket, tear open the foil with his teeth, and quickly roll it down his aching flesh. As soon as it was secure, he moved to fill in the gap between Sybil's legs, one hand moving down to cup her rump and help lift her up, while the other guided his cock to her entrance. Sybil bit her lip and gripped his shoulders, lifting herself up slightly thanks to him, and gasped, as he began to sink inside and fill her up.

Both of them threw their heads back and groaned as their bodies finally connected. Ask either of them, and they would say it was the most exquisite feeling they had ever experienced. Tom rested his forehead against hers, panting momentarily as he moved deeper inside her, feeling her body stretch in welcome to his. Indeed, as cliché as it may sound, Tom did feel as if he were being welcomed home.

"All right?" he panted, looking at her for any sign of discomfort as he held her trembling body next to his. She answered him by threading her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, and pulling his head down for a deep kiss. He understood her answer, and slowly began to move.

Sybil moaned and whimpered once more against his mouth, and her hands clutched at him, her nails digging into his shoulders, his back, his scalp. No doubt she was leaving scratch marks, but if he minded, he didn't say. Her legs were wrapped around his, pulling him closer, encouraging him to increase the tempo of his thrusts, her hips mirroring his movements and rising up off the sink to meet him.

"God . . . " he growled, both hands now wrapped around her, clutching her back, her bottom, loving the feel of her movements as she met him thrust for thrust. "So good . . . you feel so good Sybil, so good!"

"You too!" she gasped, panting as she continued to move with him, pulling him closer, drawing him nearer, never wanting to let go, never wanting this feeling to stop!

His thrusts were becoming more and more erratic, and he could feel his orgasm quickly approaching. But this was their first encounter, and even though it was one that was meant to be fast and quick, he didn't want her to walk away from it remembering how he had gotten his pleasure, and she hadn't. So with that in mind, he moved one of his hands down around her body, and with a few brushes of his thumb, stroked her clit until he felt the tremors begin to take control.

"TOM!" she nearly screamed, but his mouth was there, covering hers, swallowing her screams as her body shook with pleasure, caressing and trembling all around him, driving him over the edge himself.

They clung to each other as their bodies continued to move in the erratic aftershocks of their shared orgasm. Their arms were hugging each other so tight, her legs were like a vice around his body, and pleasured gasps were escaping their lips as they panted while coming down from the peak of their sudden and spontaneous lovemaking. As the last of the trembles shook them, Tom moved his forehead until it was pressed against hers, and they both opened their eyes then to gaze at the other, their faces flushed with perspiration, and each blushing as they shyly smiled back at the other.

"Wow . . ." Sybil managed to gasp. "That was . . . that was . . ."

Tom couldn't deny his ego was inflating by the second. He hoped hers was too, because truly, he couldn't remember a time it had felt better. "Amazing?" he offered, laughing as she gave a little swat to his chest.

"You're rather full of yourself," she giggled. "Are you always like this afterwards?"

"Hmmm, good question . . ." he grinned as he let his lips move across her jaw once again. "Only one way to find out I suppose . . ."

She whimpered, loving the feel of him all around her. Yet unfortunately, this wasn't the best place to carry on. "Maybe later," she purred into his ear, causing him to look back at her with wide and pleasantly surprised eyes.

"Later?" he asked, grinning at the idea. Did she mean later as in, later on this flight? Or did she mean later as in, after they landed, she would invite him to spend the night at her place? Truth be told, he liked both ideas very much.

She blushed and giggled at his reaction, feeling her heart swell and warm at the eager way he was looking at her. Yes, there would most definitely be a later.

"We better return to our seats," she sighed, rather reluctantly. She hated the thought of leaving their tiny, unusual love nest, but at the same time she didn't want them to get into trouble. Jail wasn't the most romantic place to spend the evening.

"Suppose so," he sighed, feeling the same reluctance. He then decided to be cheeky and moved in to kiss her cheek, before murmuring, "we'll need to rest up before round two."

She swatted him again, which naturally caused them both to laugh. With a groan, he moved away from her, disposing of the condom, and retrieving their clothes. As they righted themselves, Sybil explained that she would leave first, and then after a few minutes, he could leave to join her. Tom nodded, trying to concentrate on her words, while in truth, he was too busy enjoying the view of her rearranging her bra and t-shirt, as well as righting her knickers and jeans.

She leaned in then and kissed him one more time, a sweet and somewhat chaste kiss on the lips, before whispering, "see you soon," and gently pushing him back against the actual toilet, while she hopped down from the sink, and opened the lavatory door, quickly stepping outside and closing it before anyone took notice.

Now alone, Tom groaned and let himself sink down on the toilet to both catch his breath, and reminisce about what he had just done.

I just had sex in an airplane loo. I just had sex with the most amazing, beautiful woman . . . on a sink, in an airplane loo!

No one would believe this, but that didn't matter. Tom wasn't sure this was a story he would go around and boast about, anyway. He just couldn't believe the amazing coincidence that after meeting her last night, after the connection he had instantly felt that seemed to have come out of nowhere, and after that amazing kiss she had given him, here she was again . . . and not just flying back on the same plane, but sitting right next to him!

And then this had happened! And even though it was quick and done in a cramped space, it truly had been one of—no, no, the best—sex he had ever had.

He ran a hand through his hair and down across his face, still amazed by it all. He barely knew her; and yet he couldn't imagine being with anyone else.

Tom rose to his feet then, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat that thought brought on.

"Take it easy," he muttered to himself. "Let's just get through the rest of this flight before you consider proposing marriage." Although the thought didn't terrify him as much as he thought it might. Rather . . . it brought a bit of a smile to his face.

He leaned over the sink then and splashed some cold water on his face. He took a few more steadying breaths, before finally straightening himself up and opening the lavatory door and exiting the tiny room—

—and walking right into Edna.

"OH!" she gasped, nearly knocking him over with the beverage cart she was pushing. "Oh goodness, I'm so sorry!"

Tom stumbled a bit, but caught his balance. "It's alright," he assured, his face turning red with embarrassment. He gave her a small smile, before turning to the direction of his seat.

"Are you sure?" Edna insisted, reaching out touch his arm. "I didn't—" Whatever words she had been about to say died in her throat as she took a good, long look at him, taking in the disheveled appearance of his shirt, his hair, noticing a few teeth marks around his neck, not to mention the faded lipstick stains on his lips and jaw that the water hadn't managed to wash away. But if that hadn't given him away, the fact that the fly on his jeans was still open certainly did.

Tom realized what she was looking at, and quickly turned away to do up the zipper and snaps, muttering a curse under his breath. Edna's eyes simply narrowed, and even though she couldn't see the face of the brunette who had been sitting next to him, she imagined that her appearance wasn't so different.

"Is there anything I can get for you, sir?" she asked, the disdain in her voice clear. "I'd offer a cigarette, but we don't allow smoking on this flight."

Tom blushed with embarrassment and tried to put on a smile, but the look she gave him was the sort that would freeze hell. "Um . . . no thank you," he muttered, before quickly turning and moving back to his seat.

Sybil was waiting for him and smiled up at him while he quickly sat down, wasting no time to rebuckle his seatbelt. "Everything alright?" she murmured, noticing the rather stiff way he sat down.

"Fine," he murmured, not daring to glance behind him. "I um . . . I think we've been found out."

Sybil's eyes widened. "Really?" she then tried to strain her neck to see, but Tom gripped her hand and pulled her back down.

"Don't look!" he hissed, still embarrassed.

Sybil only giggled and resettled herself next to him. She took his hand in hers and laced their fingers together. The gesture did have a calming effect, and Tom began to feel himself relax once more.

"Well," Sybil sighed snuggling even closer, resting her head against his shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I am suddenly rather spent," she yawned and grinned up at him as he looked down at her. It was impossible not to find her charming. It was impossible not to find her amazing. "Share my blanket?" she sweetly asked, already spreading it across his lap while she made herself comfortable.

Tom couldn't help but smile, and leaned over to press a gentle kiss against her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Sybil," he murmured as they both leaned back in their seats, settling in for a much needed rest after the adventure they had shared.


	4. The In-flight Meal

Her sleep had been so deep that for a moment after waking up, Sybil wondered if the plane had already landed in London. Fearing that she'd wasted all her time with Tom sleeping, she sat up abruptly. In doing so, she realized that at some point, her head had gone from his shoulder to his lap, which caused her to blush and bite her lip as she turned to face him. By the look of it, he hadn't been down for nearly as long as she had.

"Good sleep?" Tom asked with a smile, pulling his ear buds out of his ears.

"How long was I out?" She asked, still a trifle embarrassed that she'd basically sprawled herself out all over him.

"About six hours. We're nearly there."

"Really?" She exclaimed, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice, and reached over to grab his wrist to look at his watch. Even before she saw what the actual time was—and that she'd slept for only about a half-hour—his laughter gave him away.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I suppose you think you're funny."

Still grinning, he said, "You know most people would be happy to have slept through a trans-Atlantic flight."

Sybil sat back in her seat and lifted her nose in the air. "I'm not most people."

Tom leaned over so his face was just at her shoulder and whispered, "I'm starting to see that."

Sybil turned, grazing his forehead with hers. "And how did I get there?" She asked, looking to his lap.

Tom sat back up and took her hand again. "Your head kept bobbing up and down, so I thought given the extra room, you'd be more comfortable that way. I apologize if I overstepped."

His sincerity endeared Sybil, although she couldn't help but snicker at his last words. "Considering what went on in the lavatory, I don't think you need to worry about 'overstepping' with me."

Tom looked away in embarrassment, scratching his forehead, but Sybil could see that he was smiling. Looking back at her again, the smile faded slightly into a gaze as intense as Sybil could handle. It was all she could do not to stand and drag him into the loo again. Instead, she tugged on his shirt and pulled him into a long kiss.

After they separated, she said quietly, "I can't seem to stop doing that."

He smiled. "Don't."

They kissed again. Then, laughing at themselves, they settled back into their seats. Sybil looked down at their still intertwined fingers and marveled at how instantly they'd connected. She had plenty of friends who were happy to take a man home after one night of drinks—and several among them had even managed to turn such a casual encounter into a bonafide relationship once or twice.

Sybil never moved so fast, though, not because she thought it was wrong, but because for her it always took meeting someone several times before she could decide whether she was physically attracted to the guy enough to want to sleep with him. For better or for worse, her mind was always several steps ahead of her heart and her libido. Her friend Gwen attributed it to her posh upbringing, aristocrats never being ones to show too much too soon. But Sybil secretly wondered whether it was a reflection of how attractive people found her.

With Tom, it seemed, things were the exact opposite. The night before, at the bar back in Chicago, he'd barely spoken four sentences to her, and yet the urge to kiss him had been so overwhelming, she was actually moved to act on it. This morning's event spoke for itself. For all intents and purposes, her body was a month into the relationship. Her mind was still waiting for the first date. Her heart was somewhere in between, a bit too overcome with feelings to make sense of any of them.

Turning to look at Tom, who had apparently been watching her as she wrestled with all these thoughts, Sybil smiled. The chemistry was there in spades—boy, was it—but once they got to know each other, would they even get along?

"It's a bit hard to start a conversation with someone who you barely know, but who somehow also feels as if they've been around forever."

Tom smiled. "No time like the present for a first date."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "Don't tell me you think airplane coffee suffices for a date?"

Laughing, Tom leaned forward and pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket of the seat in front of him. It was a menu. "Our friend Edna left them while you were asleep. We can order when we are ready. I know it's not fancy, but for our purposes it will have to do."

Sybil looked over the options, which were scrambled eggs and sausage or spinach and feta quiche, both served with a fruit cup.

"What are you having?" She asked.

"The scrambled eggs," he said, reaching up to the flight attendant call button. "You?"

"The quiche," Sybil answered. "I'm a vegetarian."

In less than a minute, Edna was there. "So what'll it be, lovebirds?" She asked humorlessly.

"Eggs for me, quiche for the lady," Tom said.

"To drink?"

Tom looked over at Sybil, who answered, "Just water, please."

"Refills on the orange juice and coffee, if you don't mind."

Edna took back her menus and left without a word.

"If she liked me before, she's had an abrupt change of mind," Tom said with a smile.

"I suppose you're used to being popular with girls."

Tom snickered. "Hardly."

"I hate false modesty."

"Me too. That's not what this is. I've had all of three girlfriends my whole life. Two of them when I was six, so I peaked a bit early."

Sybil laughed. "And the third?"

Tom rubbed his face with his free hand, making it obvious to Sybil that he'd struck a bit of a nerve.

Before he had a chance to answer, Edna came back with their meal trays. Once they were settled and ready to tuck in, Sybil said, "You don't really have to answer my question—about your history, I mean—if you don't want to."

"No, it's all right," he said, picking at his eggs with a sigh. "She was my girl next door, as it were. We grew up together, went to school together, went to uni together, did everything for the first time together. Then at the end of all of that, we realized we were basically flatmates who kissed once in a while and the longer we were together, the less interesting the kissing was."

"So . . . no passion?"

Tom shook his head sadly.

"Did she end things or did you?"

"It was mostly a mutual decision, but she precipitated it. I wanted to try to work things out, but by the end I realized that was only because I felt guilty about having wasted so many years."

"You have good memories with her, though, right?"

"Sure."

"So it wasn't all a waste."

Tom smiled. "I suppose not."

"How long ago was that?"

"Trying to assess how damaged I am?"

Sybil rolled her eyes and tickled his side, causing him to squirm a bit. "Just asking a question."

"Two years."

"And nothing since?"

"Not really. I haven't been a monk exactly"—Sybil laughed at this phrasing—"but nothing serious . . . until you."

"So you'd call this between us serious?" Sybil asked, something of a teasing tone in her voice.

"I don't know about you, but shagging someone in an airplane is sort of the definition of commitment for me."

Sybil threw her head back in laughter, which made him smile a little wider.

"As serious as one can be given the circumstances," he said finally.

"Fair enough."

"The nice thing is that there was no bitterness at the end, but it was a sort of odd situation to be in. How many men do you know wake up at 27 having just ended things with someone they've known practically since birth only to realize they're rubbish with women?"

"I wouldn't say that about you," Sybil said.

Tom shrugged. "Well, let's just say that since Molly, it hasn't come as easy with anyone as it has with you. And it wasn't all that easy with Mol. There's a difference between knowing someone and, well . . . knowing them. Does that make any sense at all?"

"Perfect sense. I think that's basically been my problem, as well."

"So . . ." Tom gestured with his fork for her to elaborate.

"My romantic history," Sybil said with a sigh. "Very little actual romance, I'm afraid. Unlike with you, my childhood sweetheart, Larry, grew up to be a first class wanker so that was a non-starter. In school, I was a bit too timid and too worried about my marks to be bothered with boys, so I didn't have a real boyfriend until uni, but none of them were around long." Sybil shrugged. "A nice shag here and there, but nobody who really got me. At least not the way I wanted them to. I know that girls my age tend to idealize things a bit too much, but I'd like to think love isn't something you have to talk yourself into or rationalize, and that's basically all I've ever done. It feels kind of nice to just jump in and see what happens for a change."

"Is that what you're doing with me?"

"I think it would be fair to say I don't know what I'm doing with you. But I'm seeing positive results nevertheless."

Tom lifted his orange juice and held it up to her. "To not knowing what we're doing."

Sybil smiled and clinked her glass with his. "Cheers."

They each took a sip from their glasses.

"So now that we've taken care of the whole 'exes' conversation," Sybil said, "how about a lighter topic?"

"Like what?"

"What were you listening to when I woke up?"

Tom wiped his hands on his napkin, then took the earbuds from where they'd fallen onto his lap, leaned over and carefully pushed them into her ears. He pulled his iPod out from his front shirt pocket and pressed play.

Sybil grinned. "I love Mumford and Sons!"

Tom smiled as she closed her eyes and started mouthing the words.

Love; it will not betray you,  
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free.  
Be more like the man you were made to be.

Before now, he might have thought it a cliché, but Tom could actually feel his heart start to race watching her. She was so beautiful.

If I had a personal conversation with God, Tom thought, I would ask him to create this girl.

After a few minutes, the song ended, and Sybil pulled the ear buds out, rolled them up in the cord and tucked them back into his pocket, patting his chest lightly after doing so.

"Thanks," she said.

"Thank you."

She smiled shyly and took a bite of her food.

"So what's on yours?" Tom asked, gesturing to her music player, which she'd tucked into the pocket of the seat in front of her when he'd sat down before the plane took off.

Sybil bit her lip, remembering what had been playing last. She moved her tray slightly and pulled it out. She put her earbuds in his ears. Before pressing play, she said, "No judgment!"

"Now I'm worried."

She pressed play and as soon as she'd done so, she could hear the music herself.

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe,  
You don't know, Oh oh,  
You don't know you're beautiful, Oh oh,  
That's what makes you beautiful.

Tom dropped his chin into his chest and looked over at her in mock disappointment. He unceremoniously yanked the earbuds out of his ears.

"There's only so much One Direction a man's ears can take."

"It's a good song for running. Nice and upbeat."

He looked at her with a skeptical expression.

"Oh, bugger off. I know it's not Mozart or anything, but it's fun. I'm sure you have music you are embarrassed about but secretly love."

Tom laughed. "I have something by Katy Perry that I will admit I don't completely hate, but in my defense it was downloaded by my nineteen-year-old sister."

Mentioning Lily and her age gave Tom pause. He turned to Sybil abruptly. "How old are you?"

She laughed. "Younger than you, but not that young. I'm twenty-three."

"Twenty-nine is not too old for you?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

"Don't be silly!" She picked up his fork and stabbed a bit of sausage. "But if you need a bit of help feeding yourself, I'm happy to oblige."

Tom smiled bashfully and grabbed the fork from her. "I have a few good years left in me."

"I'll say." She rolled up her earbuds and tucked them back into the chair in front of her. "Anyway, my dad is ten years older than my mum, so they won't care either."

"Good to know."

A short while later, once they'd finished their breakfast, Edna came by for their trays.

Once their seat tables were back up, Sybil took Tom's hand again. "So, good first date?"

"Don't think I've had better," he answered.

Sybil leaned in and gave him a short, sweet kiss on the lips. "Neither have I, but I'm afraid I need to go to the loo." She pulled back for a moment and added, "To actually use it this time."

Tom laughed. "I understand," he said and moved aside, so she could move into the aisle.

As Sybil walked to the lavatory, Molly came into his mind. Tom hadn't heard from her in months, but he hoped that, wherever she was, she had experienced something akin to what he was feeling with Sybil right now.

He didn't know if the feeling was love. He knew only that it was better than any feeling in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If I had a personal conversation with God, I would ask him to create this girl." This line is "borrowed" from the movie Singles and is one of my favorite movie quotes.


	5. The In-Flight Movie

Seeing Sybil returning from the loo, Tom stood to let her into her window seat. As she did so, she poked him in the side causing him to buckle slightly and laugh.

"Are you ticklish?" She asked, smiling.

"I am, but please don't try it here," he said with a pleading expression.

"I won't, but I'll be storing the information away for later," she replied, as they settled back down into their seats.

Once seated, they leaned into each other again and looked at each other for a long moment. Sybil bit her lip, wondering what they would do next. The flight was not quite two hours in.

"Well," Tom said finally, "now that we've had a meal, that's usually when one goes out to see a film, yeah?"

"OK," Sybil said, pleased that he was eager to continue their so-called first date. "What are our options?"

"Quite a lot actually," he said holding up the airline magazine he had been perusing. "I never realized how much more you get to pick from in first class. Always interesting to see how the other half lives."

Sybil squeezed her hands together in her lap, her nerves suddenly flaring. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder why he was in first class. His words suggested it was a rarity for him, and his tone revealed he didn't particularly like people for whom it wasn't. Not that Sybil was necessarily one of those people. OK, yes, her parents were quite rich and her family was of aristocratic stock. But Sybil herself had always been something of an oddity in her family when it came to money. She chose to work instead of living off of her trust fund. She lived simply and humbly in a two-bedroom flat instead of the posh houses her sisters had chosen for themselves. And she always traveled on the cheap.

She had chosen to "treat" herself on this particular trip because it was her first vacation since she'd started full time work the year before and because it was such a long flight. She'd always be grateful that she did because doing so put her next to Tom, and allowed them a measure of privacy. But suddenly the question of why they were both there felt a bit like the elephant in the room. Looking into his eyes, she saw a bit of something that looked like curiosity in his expression, as if he too had realized what he'd said and what conversation he'd just prompted.

Why not? she thought. Every rule she'd ever been told to follow regarding men seemed to go out the window with Tom Branson, and so far, her instincts had not led her astray with him.

"So," she said teasingly, "if you're not one of the 'other half' as you put it, how did you come to be sitting here next to me?"

"Obviously, a higher power sent me," he said, winking in a way she found entirely adorable. "Actually, um, it was my new sister in law, Liz—her parents paid for my ticket. They're not the richest people in the world, but they wanted her to marry in the church she grew up in. They felt bad about making Kieran's side of the family come so far for the wedding since we're definitely not the richest people in the world."

"So they bought everyone a first-class ticket? That's remarkably generous."

"They didn't do it for the extended family, else they'd have had to charter an entire 747. Just my two sisters and my parents, but that's five of us, not including Kieran, so it was still quite a bit to have to pay."

"Sounds like he married into a nice family. Do you like them and his new wife?"

"Very much. He's always been a bit of a rough diamond, but Liz is a good influence." He smiled, looking down at his lap, recalling a memory. "I remember after I first met her and she'd gone home, we were talking about her and I told him she was way out of his league. Normally, he might have shrugged it off and said he was just havin' a bit of fun, but instead he got all serious and looked at me square in the eye and said, 'I know.' I think that's when I knew she was it for him."

Sybil smiled warmly as he turned back to look at her.

"So do you live in London or Ireland?" She asked.

"London. I came to England for uni and have been here since."

"Where did you go to school?"

Tom hesitated for a moment. "Cambridge."

Sybil raised her eyebrows, impressed. "So you're the cleverer one of the two of us."

He shrugged. "Not likely. I shagged my interviewer."

Sybil's eyes widened, and Tom immediately started laughing, which earned him an elbow to the shoulder.

"I'm joking, obviously," he said.

Sybil narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know. I think I'll reserve judgment on that one."

He smiled. "When Molly—the ex I mentioned, um . . when she and I applied, it was a reach for us both. We were ready to break up when the end of school came, and then we both got in. It was such an unlikely turn of events, we thought it was God demanding that we stay together. So on the one hand I enjoyed being a student there and made some good friends, but I also can't help but think it ended up costing me four years of my life, romantically speaking."

"The journey led you here, right?"

"Yeah."

"And do you wish you were somewhere else right now?"

Tom grinned. "No."

"So quit your whining!" She said, poking him in the side again.

He laughed, still in awe of how she, a perfect stranger, could make so much sense of his life. It was the second time he had mentioned Molly, and the second time she had surprised him with her non reaction. He didn't particularly like talking about Molly, not because there were any lingering feelings. There weren't. But because girls tended to be intimidated by the ghost of such a long relationship in his past. He was positively delighted to find that, for whatever reason, it barely registered with Sybil.

"What about you?" He asked.

"University, siblings or reason I'm in first class?"

"All of the above."

"I went to Leeds. I'm from York originally, and I wanted to stay close to home."

"What did you study?"

"Nursing. It wasn't what my parents wanted, so it ultimately made having stayed close to home rather a terrible decision, but other than having to deal with them, which I've been doing my whole life anyway, I loved it."

"And you work in London?"

"In the maternity wing of UCLH. The hours get a bit crazy sometimes, especially if you're a newbie like me. It's wonderfully rewarding work though."

"I can imagine. Why did your parents not want you to be a nurse? That's a rather noble profession, I would say."

Sybil blushed. "Well, the answer sort goes into why I'm in first class."

"Oh?"

"I'm afraid I come from a long line of gentlemen solicitors and society wives. Nursing didn't quite meet the Crawley standard."

"How long a line are we talking?"

Sybil sighed and looked at him from the side of her eyes, not sure what he'd say to this. "The earldom goes back to 1806, I think."

"Earldom?" Tom asked in disbelief.

"My father is the earl of Grantham."

"So you're Lady Sybil Crawley?"

"Technically. But it's a meaningless title."

"A beatiful, posh nurse."

"A nurse with crabby parents."

"A beautiful nurse with crabby parents. The beautiful is non-negotiable."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nevertheless. He reached out to hold her hand, and she took his into both of hers.

After a moment, he said, "I suppose I won't judge you for traveling first class seeing as I probably wouldn't have seen you if either of us was in the madhouse back there," he said pointing to the economy class behind them.

"I don't usually, to be honest. Only if the flight is longer than three hours."

"And siblings?" He asked.

"Two sisters, both older."

"And I take it they aren't nurses?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Mary was a lawyer before she had her son, George. She says she may go back to work eventually, but for now she's a mum. Edith works for a magazine."

"Oh, which one?"

"Vogue." She smirked. "Do you read it?"

Tom laughed. "No, but I'm a writer as well. That's why I asked."

"Edith isn't a writer exactly. She's assistant fashion editor. She's written a few pieces, but mostly her job is to go to fashion week and pick out clothes to style shoots. It's quite glamorous, which is amusing considering that she thought of herself as the ugly duckling when we were growing up."

"And what did you think of yourself when you were young?"

"The rebel, which is what I still am, I'm afraid. At least as far as my family thinks. What do you write?"

"I was a stringer for the Indy, doing politics mostly, but I took the year off to write a novel."

Sybil's eyes lit up. "Really, that's amazing!"

Tom smiled bashfully. "My editor doesn't think it's amazing. It's coming along."

"He's probably just jealous of your talent."

"Says the girl who hasn't read a word I've written."

"I have a good feeling about you."

"I'm glad to know I've made a good impression."

Sybil bit her lower lip, and Tom lifted his right hand to her face and ran his thumb over it.

"I don't think that lip likes being bitten so much," he said in a whisper.

"No?"

Tom shook his head and leaned over to kiss her. He pulled back slightly after a minute and looked down at her lower lip again. Looking back up to Sybil, he said, "Yeah, it definitely prefers me kissing it."

"I don't know," she said playfully. "I've been biting my lip my whole life. You've only been around a day."

"Well, if you'd rather keep bit—"

He smiled into the kiss that Sybil interrupted him with.

When they pulled apart. Sybil let out a long, dramatic sigh. "You're right. It really does prefer to kiss you."

She sat up and kissed him on the forehead, then added, "So what are we going to watch?"

Tom handed her the airline magazine with the list of what was available and a pen. "Scratch out half the list."

Sybil looked at him, then down at the magazine.

Argo  
Cloud Atlas  
Django Unchained  
Fast & Furious  
Finding Nemo  
Frankie and Johnny  
Hitch  
Hitchcock  
Jack Reacher  
Les Mis  
Life of Pi  
Quartet  
Rise of the Guardians  
Silver Linings Playbook  
Skyfall  
The Hobbit  
Twilight Saga Breaking Dawn Part 2

She narrowed the list and handed it back to him.

Argo  
Finding Nemo  
Frankie and Johnny  
Hitchcock  
Les Mis  
Life of Pi  
Quartet  
Rise of the Guardians  
Silver Linings Playbook  
Skyfall

He looked over at what was left. He scratched a few more out and handed it back to her once again.

Argo  
Frankie and Johnny  
Hitchcock  
Life of Pi  
Skyfall

"Leave two and then we'll decide," he said.

Sybil looked over her choices and made her final eliminations.

Frankie and Johnny  
Life of Pi

Taking the magazine back, Tom sighed. "No Skyfall?"

Sybil shook her head. "No Les Miserables. No Skyfall."

"Fair enough. OK, so which of these do you prefer?"

"Which do you prefer?" She asked.

"At the same time?"

Sybil nodded.

"Life of Pi."

"Life of Pi."

Sybil grinned. "That was easier than I was expecting."

"I hope it's good," Tom said, queuing it up on their screens. He pulled out his ear buds and handed her the right ear. "Seeing as we can't go to the back row to fool around if it's not."

Still smiling, she put the ear bud in her ear. "I like you Tom Branson."

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Good."


	6. Unexpected Turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has mild spoilers for the movie and book Life of Pi (I highly recommend both). I don't think anything in here would detract from enjoyment of either, but fair warning if you are a stickler for that sort of thing. Also, I'm leaving another note and the end of the chapter.

**** "So what did you think?" Tom asked, as Sybil picked her head up from his shoulder and stretched.

She thought for a moment. "Different. It's not quite what I was expecting . . . more spiritual and visually interesting than I imagined for a survival story. I did like it."

"So I take it you didn't read the book?"

"No, it's one of those on my endless list of things I want to read that I somehow never manage to pick up. What did you think?"

"I did read the book, and I liked it very much. I wasn't sure whether an adaptation of a book that's essentially all introspection and spirituality would work, but it does for the most part. I like Ang Lee. He has a really varied résumé as a director. I'm not sure anyone else could have done it quite as well."

Sybil furrowed her brows as if trying to remember something. "Didn't he direct the Sense and Sensibility with Emma Thompson?"

"I believe so."

"Ah, that explains it," she said smiling.

"Explains what?" Tom asked with a look on his face that was both amused and puzzled.

"Well, how good he is. You see, if you can do Austen well, you can do anything."

Tom laughed. "I'm sure that's embroidered on a pillow somewhere."

Now it was Sybil's turn to laugh. After a moment, she asked, "So which version of the story do you think we are meant to believe is true, the one with the people or the one with the animals?"

Tom thought for a moment. "I think it's left up to the audience's interpretation, but to be honest my reactions were different for the book and the film."

"How so?"

"After I read the book—mind you it was ages ago—I thought everything about the tiger and the other animals was all stuff he made up in his head in order to survive, the power of his imagination being the thing that ultimately saves him. But the movie made me believe the story of him and the tiger was true."

"That's what I think. The whole notion about having to train him and having an actual companion keeping his mind off the fact that he could die at any time seems more plausible than anything else."

"Do you think someone really could survive a trek across the Pacific on a row boat?" Tom asked. There was lightness in his tone, but Sybil could see that he was asking a serious question, and not merely making a joke.

She let out a long sigh and said, "I believe anything is possible. One could argue the logistics of it, I suppose, but it's usually our own minds that get in the way of what we can do, not the actual circumstances."

Sybil turned toward him again, and he brought his hand to her face, as if making sure, once again, that she was really there, really real. Then he kissed her. After a moment he pulled away, but remained close.

"Next time I'm on a boat, I'll be sure to bring you along," he said, smiling.

"Not confident in your own survival skills, are you?"

"Not at all. For starters, I like my meat, and I absolutely hate fish. I might welcome death before being forced to eat so much of it."

Sybil laughed, and they sat back in their seats again. "Survival at sea," she said. "Another reason I am grateful to be a vegetarian. I suppose you've just ruled out going out for sushi as a date?"

"I have."

"Well, no steakhouses either, especially not the ones that bring you the slabs of beef to choose from."

"But it's _so_ delicious!" He teased.

Sybil stuck out her tongue in disgust in a way that made Tom laugh.

"What made you decide to become a vegetarian?" He asked.

"I started when I was fourteen. I read an article about slaughterhouses and unethical treatment of animals, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Soon after, we had veal at home for dinner, and I couldn't stomach it. My dad made a fuss, of course, which only made me want to stick to my guns even more."

"Don't you ever crave like a burger or something?"

"No. I still eat fish, eggs and cheese occasionally, and I'll admit I teaching myself to like soymilk has been a struggle, but I'd like to think that eventually I'll do without those as well. As for meat itself, it's been so long now, I actually have a bit of a hard time digesting it. A couple of years ago, on a dare, a friend made me try this avocado and bacon sandwich she said would like change my life or something. And it did! The whole next day I had these intense stomach cramps. I thought I was going to die. That absolutely cured me of craving any kind of meat, so even if I wanted to have some, I know the result would be a terrible stomachache. I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to pain."

"Does your father still give you a hard time about it?"

"He does, but revenge is mine because his doctor last year suggested he stop eating it himself for his health—not that I'm glad he has heart problems. God, that sounded awful."

Tom smiled. "I understand. My father's no picnic either."

"It's just that. He might have done something about his health sooner if . . ."

Sybil trailed off, getting frustrated at the constant battle that was her relationship with her father, just thinking about it.

"If he listened to the medical professional who happens to be his daughter?" Tom added in.

Sybil smiled. "Something like that. He's still a bit in denial about my job. But his issue with me being a vegetarian has less to do with the food I actually eat or the health aspect of it and more with my politics. We don't really see eye-to-eye on much."

"How do you mean your politics?" Tom asked.

"I'm a diehard lefty in a family that's otherwise Tory through and through. For me, factory farming and industrial food production are cruel and unusual in terms of how the animals are treated. And it's wasteful and terrible for the environment."

"But people need cheap food," Tom said, shrugging his shoulders, arguing more or less for argument's sake, not because he disagreed with her.

Sybil, not one to back down, spoke again. "Cheap food that's terrible for you that you end up paying for in poor health, that the earth ends up paying for with through diminished natural habitats and through increased use of fossil fuels needed to support to the food industry, and cheap food that's produced by using tons of grains that could be used to feed millions in a perfectly inexpensive and nutritious way."

Tom wasn't backing down either. And so he went on, "A family that's living from one month to the next isn't thinking about health problems that may develop over years when they aren't sure if they'll have enough money for next month's groceries. And they don't really care about the environment either. Maybe they do but there are so many more immediate concerns they have to deal with that it's not something they can always afford to take into consideration."

"But putting it in those terms, it sounds as if you think we shouldn't even try to make a difference, that the problem is too big and you can't convince people to do the right thing because it's too expensive and they don't care enough."

"Everything you're saying about the food industry is right, but ultimately, giving up meat is still just a lifestyle choice that poor people don't have the money or resources to make. It's easier for someone like you to be a vegetarian than, say, a single mother of two who doesn't think she has time to cook a pot of brown rice or pay premium for a pound of tempeh when she can just slap together a ham sandwich in five minutes."

Sybil narrowed her eyes, annoyance building in the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean someone like _me_? Do you think I'm just a posh girl with a passing fancy? Because I've actually thought about this quite a lot. Someday, I'd like to raise my children as vegetarians."

_Shit_. "That's not what I said," he said quietly. "You're absolutely right about the impact the meat industry has on the environment and people's health, but not everyone sees things from your perspective. And not everyone wants to make that choice. On top of which, kids who are raised not eating meat and become unable to digest it—just as you can't—maybe they grow up angry that the choice has been made for them. I'd like _my_ kids to know the impact of eating meat as much as you, but I don't want to choose for them."

Sybil crossed her arms angrily.

Tom's shoulders drooped. "All I'm saying is you should try to understand that what you see as a major problem is not seen that way by people who have much bigger problems than you."

"You barely know me! Maybe I'm being unfair, but so are you by assuming you can make a judgment about my problems."

Tom sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm an argumentative ass. I wasn't trying to make you angry—"

"You failed," Sybil said curtly. Before he could say anything else, she stood up, stepped over him and walked down the aisle to the loo.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands. "Brilliant."

Sybil closed the lavatory door and snapped the lock in place. Leaning against the door, she took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Finally she opened her eyes and saw her own reflection in the mirror.

"Excellent work, Sybil," she said aloud to herself, with a humorless laugh. "You managed to be petulant _and_ overbearing. That ought to keep him interested."

She sat down on the toilet lid now feeling more embarrassed than angry. Sybil had gone to the loo to calm herself down, the argument having gotten her worked up in ways both bad and good.

_Maybe he'll come chasing after me again_ , she thought with a sad smile. _If only._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is just a bit of fun fluff. I know the fight ventured into sort of serious/political subject matter, and I did that to show a window into what Sybil and Tom think about and what matters to them. One thing to remember in this is that Sybil is young so if her temper flared rather easily it's because she's in that phase of her life where she's still figuring out what's important to her, while Tom is older and more sure of himself so his questioning gets her a bit defensive. The subject isn't meant to be a dealbreaker, just something that the stubborn/argumentative nature they both have escalates totally needlessly.
> 
> I, myself, don't have a strong opinion on the subject of vegetarianism (though I have gone without meat in very long stretches before for issues having to do with my health), but for those of you who are vegetarians might be reading this, I hope I didn't offend or portray it in any kind of negative way. Two of my best friends are vegan and they are two of the most healthy, thoughtful, nonjudgmental people I know—that's how I see this Sybil too, and her choice to be a vegetarian is a reflection of all of these traits. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	7. Approaching Our Final Destination

 

**** Tom watched the light above lavatory door, but with dread, this time, rather than anticipation. He felt foolish for having argued with Sybil when things had been going so well, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd also gotten a kind of kick out of it. He liked the way she didn't back down from him or immediately try to make peace. He loved the passion with which she spoke about something that clearly meant a great deal to her. He could tell Sybil that he was actually a little bit turned on by the whole thing—though it would likely earn him a slap across the face.

Tom had always dreamed of being in the kind of relationship where passion ruled—one in which he could argue and get angry and be his true self without worrying about offense because deep down it all came from a place of true love. This, whatever this was, with Sybil kind of felt like that. But before he could be sure of whether Sybil Crawley was his true love, he had to be sure she'd even be willing to sit next to him the rest of the flight.

So when the light above the lavatory turned green, he jumped out of his seat toward the door. He waited for her to open it, but she didn't do so right away. After a minute or so, he took a chance and opened the door himself, stepping into the tiny space with her.

Sybil's eyes widened seeing him, and she attempted to move back as he came in, but the backs of her legs hit the toilet immediately, causing her to fall back onto the lid.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to stand back up and finding only room enough to stand with her back slightly to him and one knee still leaning on the toilet lid.

Tom struggled to push the door closed behind him. This really wasn't the ideal place to fix things with her, but what choice did he have? When he finally pushed lock into place, he lost his balance slightly almost pushed her into the wall, managing not to do so by catching himself with his hand against the wall opposite the door. Once he felt a bit more in control he straightened up slightly and moved as far back against the door as he could to give Sybil room. She looked over her shoulder for a second then, put her foot down on the floor again. Her back was flush against his chest, and it took some effort for her not just to lean against him.

Just then momentary turbulence caused them both to lose their footing, but with nowhere to fall, they basically clutched one another until catching their balance again.

Tom let out a small laugh. "Not the best place to continue this conversation."

"We shagged in here. Talking should be a cinch."

Tom laughed again, then took a deep breath. "First, I was raised in a working-class Irish household where every night dinner was offered with my mam saying, 'Eat what's on your plate and like it and be grateful that you have any food at all.' So I learned not to think about what I was putting in my body and that's basically been my life's philosophy ever since. Obviously, it was different for you. From a young age, it seems, you were very conscientious and thoughtful about it and you made a decision that has made you healthier and more morally and socially aware—something that I find _deeply_ sexy if you don't mind my saying."

Sybil blushed in spite of herself and turned her head away, though he could still see her in the mirror. Feeling encouraged, he went on.

"If I was arguing with you, it wasn't because I think I'm right and you're wrong. It's just that it also happens that I am a silly prick who likes to argue sometimes for the sake of arguing—another consequence of my hard-scrabble upbringing. On the bright side, I would like to point out that we met less than 24 hours ago and we're already fighting about how we are going to raise our children so I am taking that as a positive sign that you like me as much as I like you."

Sybil smiled in spite of herself, and in the small space made the effort to turn around. Their faces were mere inches apart.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I've been told on more than one occasion that I can get a bit righteous sometimes."

Tom smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "Never apologize for being you, certainly not to me."

"Well, I know you weren't trying to put me down, so I apologize for reacting as if you were."

Sybil leaned in to close the already negligible distance between them with a kiss. Tom wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up on her tiptoes as he deepened their kiss. He pulled away and kissed her softly on the forehead before moving to open the door again. Sybil grabbed his arm to stop him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He let out a short laugh, his heart suddenly racing. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Well you seem to want to go back to our seats, and it's just that . . ."

"It's just that what?" he asked.

"Well, we've had a fight," Sybil continued.

"And?"

"And haven't you ever had makeup sex?"

Despite the small space, Tom had to literally reach out and grab hold of the loo's sink to keep his knees from buckling at her words.

_Makeup sex._

Had he heard her correctly? Surely, this wasn't some male fantasy-wishful thinking on his part, was it? God, he hoped not. The truth was, Tom had not, in fact, experienced what in his mind he had long concluded was nothing more than an urban legend—"makeup sex"—mainly because sex had always been the _last thing_ he'd wanted whenever he and Molly got into an argument (and the feeling from her had seemed fairly mutual). Of course, perhaps that was because he and Molly, as Sybil had quite rightly pointed out earlier, had had a rather "passionless" relationship, especially near the end. Even when they fought, there was no fire; their fights were certainly nothing like the argument he had just had with Sybil.

Sybil Crawley was the first woman to really _inflame_ his passions, both in his body and his heart.

Despite their argument, Tom couldn't help but think how incredibly beautiful and sexy Sybil looked as she stood up to him and fired back her opinions. He loved that about her—and he had more or less confessed that to her just now. He couldn't deny it aroused him as well. He was glad— _very glad_ —that they had made up and not allowed a difference of opinion to be twisted into something that could drive a wedge between them. He would never have forgiven himself. Sybil Crawley truly was one of a kind, and whatever it was that had brought them together at that pub and on this plane—whether it was destiny, the hand of God, or pure coincidence— _something_ was at work in bringing them together.

Sybil was like no other woman he had ever met before. And yes, he was very, _very_ interested in engaging and enjoying "makeup sex" with her.

Sybil couldn't help but grin up at him as she watched the weight of her suggestion play across his face and his mind. Her fingers were already at work, running up his muscled forearms and biceps, until she reached his shoulders, then moving down across his chest, lingering on his pectorals, then moving down again, sliding over his abs, and finally resting at the waistband of his jeans.

"Soooo?" she asked, looking up at him with a coy smile, her teeth coming forward to bite her bottom lip as her eyes held his.

A groan escaped his lungs, and Sybil didn't even have time to gasp, before his hands cupped her face, his fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head back and bringing her lips to his. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and robbed her of both her breath and all manner of thinking. The kisses they had shared before were among the most passionate she had ever experienced in her life. Oh, who was she kidding? _No one_ had ever kissed her the way Tom Branson kissed her! Whether they were quick, deep, passionate kisses, or long, slow, lingering kisses, or even sweet little pecks to the lips, no man in the history of the world, she was convinced, kissed like Tom Branson.

And not for the first time since being reunited with him on this flight, she found herself thinking, _"I don't want to know a day where I don't feel the touch of his lips…"_

She wondered whether such emotions should frighten her. This was beyond simple, sexual attraction. As Tom had pointed out, she had made a reference to one day having kids . . . _with him._ Clearly her heart and mind were racing ahead at full steam. Maybe she should be scared. Didn't all the relationship experts preach against rushing in like this?

_Yeah, but do those so-called experts know Tom Branson?_

When they broke the kiss, both breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes, Sybil felt her heart flutter as the blue of his eyes penetrated her own. When he was aroused, his eyes would darken, and the color would look so much more intense. But there was something else about the way he looked at her. Something that was beyond physical, sexual need . . .

_Love._

Oh God, was that . . . was _that_ what she was seeing?

Or was that her wishful thinking?

_No man has ever loved me_ , she thought.

Sybil swallowed the lump in her throat. In her previous relationships, the word "love" had sometimes been thrown around, but she was ashamed to admit that it had had little to no meaning. In fact, she honestly couldn't remember a boyfriend saying the word to her without perhaps her initializing it, and even then, it wouldn't necessarily be about her, but something she had done _—"Oh God, I love it when you do that!"_ or _"I love you when you get like this."_ She certainly had no recollection of Larry ever murmuring "the L word" to her.

The realization made Sybil feel rather . . . cheap. Cheap and undeserving. And she quickly lowered her eyes, feeling unworthy of Tom's intense, passionate stare. For Tom, the lightness and merriment that had filled him when he had kissed her quickly vanished and was instantly replaced with concern as he noticed the sudden change in her.

_Oh God, what did I do?_ "Love?" he whispered, his left hand moving around to cup her chin, his fingers softly caressing her cheek with hopes of persuading her to look up at him.

A quick intake of breath was heard from her after he spoke that simple word, and as she lifted her eyes again to gaze back at him, his heart broke as he saw what looked to be tears swimming in her eyes.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked with concern, his brain automatically leaping to the worst-case scenario. Perhaps during the intensity of their kiss he had pushed her too hard against the sink. When his fingers threaded through her hair, maybe he had scratched her scalp? Or pulled some hairs? Maybe he had tugged on her head too roughly in trying to tilt her lips to meet his? Oh Lord, what if it had been the kiss itself? Her lip! His eyes quickly flew to her beautiful lower lip—the one she liked to bite so often—pink and swollen, checking to see if it was bleeding due to his rather amorous kiss. Thankfully it wasn't. His eyes flew to hers once again, but now she was gazing up at him with . . . tenderness? Yes, tenderness. And affection.

"I'm all right," Sybil assured him, her face darkening in a deep blush. "Truly."

Tom wanted to believe her, but if she were truly all right, then why had she looked so sad moments ago? Something had happened, something was on her mind and was bothering her, and as much as the idea of repeating what they had done in this tiny room aroused him, he was much more concerned about her well-being and happiness.

"Come on," he whispered, putting on a smile for her and reaching forward to open the door. "Let's go back to our seats—"

"No," she reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he could open it. "No, please, not yet."

"Sybil, it's all right," he assured her, although he did obey her and removed his hand from the latch. "As for the 'makeup sex,' there's no law that says it has to be _immediately_ after a row, is there?" He hoped his humor would lighten the situation a little and bring a smile back to her face. His own face broke into a smile, one filled with relief, when he saw her blush and bashfully lower her head, a sweet giggle bubbling up from her throat.

"So . . ." she murmured, her fingers still lingering on the waistband of his jeans. "So you're saying you would be willing to continue this after we land?"

_Oh God yes._

Had he given her any reason to doubt? It wasn't just because of the sex—although yes, he knew he wanted very, very much to continue their lavatory escapades in a place that offered them a bit more room to spread out and explore one another without the fear of being arrested by TSA. But beyond that, when their plane landed, when they found themselves back in London, he didn't want this beautiful, strange relationship to end when they parted ways at baggage claim.

He wanted to take her out on a proper date. He wanted to take her to his favorite café for a good, quality breakfast. He wanted to take her to his favorite pub for drinks after a long day of working. He wanted to take her to the cinema and sit in the back row of a darkened theater, snuggled close as they watched whatever it was on screen, all the while resisting the urge to spend the entire time necking. He wanted to go for walks with her, holding her hand, tucking her arm around his, visiting and exploring their favorite places, creating and finding their own . . . He wanted this beautiful, strange relationship to be more than just two strangers hitting it off at a pub in a foreign city and carried away by the thrill of seeing one another again on the flight home. He wanted their relationship to _be_ a relationship, with all the trims and trappings of a relationship, from keeping toothbrushes at their respective flats, maybe having a special drawer set aside for each other's things. And then, after numerous dates and sleepovers, he would broach the subject of moving in together. He wanted her to call him "her boyfriend," he wanted her to introduce him to her friends and family as "my boyfriend, Tom"—yes, yes, he actually wanted to meet her family, her posh sisters and aristocratic parents in their grand country estate, even though the thought terrified him! He wanted to meet them and win their approval, and he wanted her to meet his family. He wanted to take her to Ireland, show her where he grew up, introduce her as "my girlfriend, Sybil," to everyone back home, even complete strangers! He already knew that his mother would instantly love her, and he was positive she would win over the rest of his family too, and then . . . and then . . .

As Tom's mind raced ahead, his heart beat faster and faster. He wondered whether he should be thinking about such things.

_Should I already be imagining myself bending down on one knee? Her in a white dress, trembling fingers lifting her veil as voices mingle together, repeating vows to love, honor and cherish each other through good times and bad until death do us part? Should I be imagining moving into a proper house and painting the walls of a spare bedroom, while her hand rests atop her beautiful, swollen belly? Should I be imagining the two of us bent over and gray, holding hands while sitting in adjoining rocking chairs, watching grandchildren kick a football around in their front garden?_

Shouldn't he be absolutely terrified for thinking about any of this?

_Yes and no._

Yes, it was scary, but in so far as he might muck it all up. That this beautiful, amazing woman who came out of nowhere and kissed him in a Chicago pub on St. Paddy's Day was the woman he had been waiting his whole life for—and that she could suddenly disappear and be out of his life for good, if he made the wrong move or said the wrong thing.

That's what terrified him; that all those sweet images in his mind might never come to pass if he wasn't careful.

"Tom?"

He blinked, realizing that she was looking up at him, her own eyes now lit with a little concern, no doubt caused by his long, silent daydream.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. "I was just . . ."

How much could he tell her? He didn't want to scare her off.

_I was just imagining the two of us growing old together_ , he thought. But looking at her, he remembered again their argument—about how they would raise their kids. Maybe what was in his head was in hers as well.

He swallowed and looked into her eyes, his hand returning to her cheek, still amazed at how soft her skin felt. "Sybil, I very, very much want to continue this when we land . . . and . . . and not just _this_ ," he added, blushing slightly as his eyes look around the room. She giggled, and he grinned, loving the sound so much.

She nibbled her bottom lip again. "I'm glad," she murmured, blushing herself. "I mean . . . I suppose it would be nice to know what it feels like when we're not wedged between a sink and a toilet."

He laughed at this and leaned his head forward, his brow touching hers. His arms moved around her and Sybil sighed, loving the feeling of being enclosed and held by him. His strength made her feel light and delicate, while at the same time, bold and sexy. She thought about how nice it would be, to stand somewhere and just _hold_ each other.

"I would like that too," she murmured, her heart beating a little faster as she replayed what he just said over and over in her head: _I very, very much want to continue this when we land…and…and not just_ this _._

Tom lifted his head slightly and gazed back at her, his own heart soaring at her answer.

"I would _very much_ like that," she whispered. And it was then that he saw what his heart and mind have been hoping for, the thing he had never really known with a girlfriend, even Molly with whom he had spent so many years.

_True love._

He wasn't mad; he could see it. There, in her beautiful blue eyes. Maybe they weren't ready yet to say the words out loud, but seeing the emotion in her eyes, the same emotion that was coursing through him—there was only one way to answer such a sweet revelation.

Sybil moaned as he leaned in and kissed her, this kiss being less demanding and not as fierce, but still very, very passionate.

Her arms were already around him, one hand pressed against his back while the other was around his neck, her fingers threading in his hair, pulling him closer. Tom groaned and couldn't help but grind his hips against her body as the kiss deepened. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and her own body responded to the motion of his hips by rocking back. Sybil moved the hand that was pressed against his back down, catching Tom by surprise when he felt it cup and squeeze the left cheek of his backside. Not to be outdone, he grinned against her lips and ground his hips against her again, pushing himself against her body, letting her feel the effect she was having on him.

"Tom," she moaned as his lips moved now down her jaw, across her face. She whimpered as he continued to rock his body against hers, and his mouth wonderfully assaulted the pulse point at her neck, his teeth grazing the skin, causing her to gasp and offer more of her neck for him to devour.

"God, Sybil," he groaned, his forehead resting against hers as her hand continued to knead and squeeze his backside, before moving up under his shirt and raking her nails across his lower back.

"Lift me up, Tom," she told him, indicating for him to do what they had done earlier, when he had lifted her off the floor and sat her on the sink. "Please . . ."

He wanted to, and he was just about to grant her wish, but stopped suddenly, and lifted his head away, looking down at her with a mixture of embarrassment and regret. "Oh Sybil . . . I . . . I can't."

"What?" she asked, her voice still a little breathy and her mind still a little hazy from their passionate kissing, but she quickly managed to regain her focus after seeing the disappointment in his eyes. "Why not?"

He sighed. "I um . . . I don't have another condom with me," he confessed. "I honestly didn't think this was going to happen when I came in here, and . . . and so um—"

In that moment, he wished a hole would suddenly appear beneath his feet, and drop him thousands of feet down to the cold Atlantic. However, before he managed to make an even bigger arse of himself, he noticed a sweet, coy little smile spread on Sybil's face, and she leaned up and let her lips feather across his own, whispering, "Tom Branson, ever the careful gentleman," she murmured, before digging into her own pocket, and producing the much-needed condom.

He stared at her, his eyes moving back and forth from hers to the foil packet she held in her hand. "How . . . when . . . ?"

She couldn't help but giggle. "Well, I did mention something to you earlier about 'later,' " she said with a wink. "And I just thought, 'Maybe I should be prepared, just in case something happens again," she explained.

"But . . . " he looked at the condom, recognizing the brand. It looked an awful lot like the one he had taken with him into the loo earlier.

Sybil realized the question he was thinking and tried her best to look sweet and innocent, which she knew would only inflame him further. "Yes, well, I have a confession to make," she sighed. "When I went back to our seats earlier, after our . . . _adventure_ ," she said blushing and then smiling as she heard him groan at the memory. "I noticed that your carry-on bag was open, and I saw the box, sooooo . . . "

He began to growl and pressed himself a little closer. "Are you saying you went through my things, you little minx?"

She bit her lip and looked up at him through hooded lashes, a combination of playful guilt and sexy innocence. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Will TSA be gentle with me?—OH!"

His hands had come around her, cupping her bum and lifting her off the ground, onto the sink as he had done before, leaning in and grinding his pelvis against body, her legs already spread as if welcoming him home.

"Lady Sybil Crawley," he growled. "You've been a very naughty girl, going through someone else's belongings, and I'm afraid you are under arrest and sentenced to _hard_ labor." His emphasis on 'hard' caused her to gasp as he ground his erection against her.

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as she pulled his head back to hers, desperate for his kiss, the taste of his lips and tongue, the feel of his skin. "Yes Officer Branson," she moaned, her body responding to his thrusts, her knickers growing wetter as she could feel the hard outline of his cock. "I accept my fate and will go most willingly," she added as her nails dug into the back of his neck, causing him to groan. "But I regret nothing," she purred.

Neither did he. He leaned away from her and quickly began to undo his jeans, desperate to feel her again, to be inside her sweet, slick tightness. Sybil was also busy, ridding herself of her shirt and bra again, wanting to feel his skin against hers. At the sight of breasts, free and bouncing, Tom understood and also divested himself of his shirt, this time their clothes landing on the lid of the toilet. As he pushed his jeans and briefs down, Sybil was also wriggled out of her own clothes, anxious and eager to have him fill her again. She looked up into his eyes and, with a wicked smile, let her hand move down her body, her fingers floating over a breast, briefly running across the nipple, before trailing down her stomach and pausing right between her legs.

Tom stared, his eyes following the path her fingers made. The erotic sight of Sybil touching herself, made his mouth water in anticipation.

"Toooommmm . . . " she moaned, her tongue running across her lips and her eyes fluttering as she moved the tip of her middle finger in and out of her slick opening, before sliding up to her clit and circling it. "Mmmm, Tommmmmm . .. please . . ." she continued moaning, her eyes connecting with his. "Make love to me, please?"

_Make love to her._

Those had been her words. And they made his heart soar. Not shag, or screw, or even something as crass as "fuck," but _"make love."_ Even now, in the midst of their somewhat-kinky role-play, she was asking him to make love to her. What he heard was _love her._

Which he did.

He loved her.

Sybil moaned and gasped as she continued to play with herself, feeling a bit like a kind of "mistress of seduction," when in truth she had _never_ done this before with a man watching her! It was a whole new barrier that she was breaking down, just like the wall she had once cautiously put around her heart. When it came to love and relationships, she was always so careful, approaching things slowly, testing the waters before setting her foot in deeper, and even then she was reluctant to dive in. Slow and steady wins the race, and all that.

But with Tom? Upon meeting him she did something bold! She kissed him, _she_ kissed him—and he kissed her back. And then upon seeing him on the flight, it was she who suggested they sneak off to the loo, it was she who initiated the seduction, and just now, it was she once again who had suggested they have makeup sex. And who had asked the rather scary question about whether whatever it was that they had being more? Her again.

Never in her life had Sybil felt such ease, such comfort, such trust with a man! Never in her life had she felt such . . .

Love.

Her eyes flew open and she looked at him, expecting to see him staring at her hand, her fingers, any part of her body that was naked and on display for his viewing pleasure, but his eyes were locked on her face, his gaze dark and intense as his eyes stared back into hers.

And she knew then, without any doubt that yes, she loved him.

For the first time, she was ready to dive in headfirst and tear down all the barriers.

"Tom."

He heard her say his name, and he heard the need in her voice. Not just need because she wanted him to make love to her, but need because she wanted _him_.

And sweet heaven, how he wanted her.

Without another moment's hesitation, he tore the foil open, slid the latex down over his length, and then moved himself back into the space between her legs, his own fingers touching her, groaning at the beautiful, slick feel of her, wet and waiting for him. Sybil also brought her hand back, touching him, causing his eyes to close and his breath to leave his body as she stroked him, before guiding him to her body, her legs moving around his waist, enfolding him, trapping him—

A sudden bump caused by turbulence struck the plane then, and both of them gasped and let out a very loud groan, as their bodies were thrust together by Mother Nature herself.

"Sweet Jesus, " he groaned, the motion catching him off guard, the walls of her sex squeezing his cock in that delicious embrace he had felt only a few hours ago. It was even better than he remembered.

She was panting; her body was on fire with the feel of him buried deep inside her. It was exquisite.

"Do you," she moaned, giggling a little as she looked up at him. "Do you think anyone heard us?"

He was leaning his head against her shoulder, trying to compose himself after the sudden motion of the plane and the intense pleasure of once again being united with her body. He looked up at her and chuckled. "I think the pilots could hear us."

She laughed at that, but her laughter soon turned to moans as he straightened himself slightly, causing his body to move out of her before rocking back inside.

"Oh, Tom."

"Do you like that?" he growled near her ear, loving the feel of her all around him, her arms and legs cocooning him and holding him close as he made love to her.

"Yes," she moaned, lifting her hips to meet his rhythm. "I love it," she whimpered, biting her lip, her nails scoring his shoulders. "I love how good you feel inside me."

"I love how good it _feels_ inside you," he groaned, his brow touching hers, their breath mingling as he continued thrusting, deep and long strokes, the pace slowly building more and more. "I love how you hold me to you," he added, his hands moving along her thighs, sliding up and down her legs from knee to hip. "How you move with me," he growled, his hands now cupping her rump and lifting her just slightly, encouraging her to move with him even more, his body starting to pump like a piston. "God, Sybil . . . you have no idea . . . "

"What?" she panted, looking up at him, her heart pounding so hard.

"You have . . . you have no idea _how badly_ . . . I wish we were on a bed," he confessed, chuckling softly and grinning at the sound of her giggle.

"Mmmmm, yes, a bed would be nice," she admitted, although she loved this too. She loved being with him in any capacity, and not just sexually. She loved snuggling together while she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and then his lap. She loved sharing their little inflight meal with him, and then their inflight movie. She loved talking to him, and yes, there was even a part of her that loved arguing with him, especially since she now felt more confident that he wasn't going to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble.

_He came after me._ She smiled at the thought, and moaned as she felt him move even deeper into her.

"Yes, it would be very nice," he growled, his pace quickening, his lips running over her neck and sucking at her pulse point. "The things I want to do with you on a bed . . ."

She shivered, both at his words and at what his lips and body were doing to her. The pleasure was building, higher and higher.

"Yesssssssssss . . ." she hissed, her legs tightening around him, her fingers running along his skin, loving the feel of it, the press of his chest against her breasts, the way the hair there tickled and teased her nipples. The flex of his muscles on his shoulders and back, the strength of his arms that just looked so powerful. He was like a god carved out of marble. And she couldn't get enough of him!

"I would lay you down," he told her, illustrating exactly how he would make love to her if they were at one of their places. "I would kiss you—" her fingers grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down to hers, gasping as she kissed him, her tongue sliding along his, desperate for more, wanting all of him.

"Mmmmm, you're so good at that," she moaned when their lips broke apart.

He chuckled but his lips began to kiss and lap at her throat. "But I would kiss you _everywhere_ ," he growled. One of his hands moved up her body, and Sybil's head fell back in pleasure as she felt him squeeze and fondle her right breast, his thumb running along and caressing her nipple. "I would kiss you here," he growled, his hand now teasing her other breast. "And here." His hands moved down her waist, across her stomach, to her hip and then her thigh. "And, I can't begin to tell you how badly I want to kiss you here . . ."

She gasped and whimpered as she felt his fingers move between their bodies to caress her clit. His fingers stayed there, circling her nub, moving in time with his thrusts, nearly sending her over the edge, before lifting his hand and drawing his fingers to his mouth, sucking them dry.

Some strange sound escaped her throat then. It wasn't like any sound she had ever heard herself make before, but she stared at him with wild, passion-filled eyes as he licked his fingers, tasting her wetness.

"Mmmmm, yes, I think I would kiss you there for a very, _very_ long time."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she gasped, her body on fire, longing for release and trying to lift herself up off the sink to meet his thrusts.

"Oh, love, I guarantee you; that _is_ a promise I very much intend to keep."

_Well, two can play this game._

"You have no idea how badly I wish I could just . . . push you onto your back right now," she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer, crushing her breasts to his chest, her own mouth now attacking his neck and throat, her lips teasing his Adam's apple, delighting in the pleasured groan that escaped his throat, knowing she was the cause of it. "I would push you back . . . straddle you . . . and ride you so hard, you would _faint_ from the pleasure."

"Oh God, I hope that's a promise!" he groaned, loving her illustration, easily picturing it, her beautiful body on top of his, her thighs straddling his hips, her breasts bouncing overhead, her back arching as she took her own pleasure from him, her head thrown back and her beautiful, dark brown hair tumbling down in luscious waves as she screamed her release—

The thought nearly ripped a release from him!

"Then . . . then it's settled," she panted, their bodies moving quickly now, both of them so close. "When we land . . . we are finding a bed!"

"Aye," he growled. "Absolutely!"

"TOM!" she gasped, her orgasm beginning to shake and tremble and rip through her body.

"Yes, love, yes . . . yes . . . YES!" he groaned, the walls of her core squeezing him so tightly as the pleasure shook her body, that his only naturally followed in quick succession.

They clung to each other, her legs, thighs, and hands gripping him, her nails digging into his flesh, leaving marks on his skin. He loved it. He held her just as tightly, one arm wrapped around her, clutching her, drawing her body against his chest, loving the feel of her skin, her breasts, molded against his body. Their lips found each other as their bodies trembled with pleasure, kissing deeply so as not to scream and let everyone on the entire plane know what they were doing—if they weren't aware already. They held each other like that for who knows how long, the waves didn't seem to stop for a long time.

"Oh Tom," she finally managed to whisper, her chest rising and falling from the sweet excursion of their lovemaking.

"Sybil," he groaned back, loving everything about her.

"That was even better than the last time," she moaned, giggling softly as they both lifted their heads to gaze back at one another.

"You know . . . it really was," he grinned, loving the sound of her laugh, loving her smile, oh God, loving _her_. Indeed, everything about her was wonderful.

She nibbled her bottom lip, amazed still at how bold and confident she was feeling with this wonderful man. So confident that she asked, without fear, "So do you think it will keep getting better each time?"

His heart soared at her question, and like her, he was also feeling confident enough to answer, "I suppose we'll find out."

She grinned up and him, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down for one more kiss, but whispering against his lips before sealing it, "I can't wait."

Tom and Sybil might have stayed in that tiny loo kissing the rest of the way to London had the intercom not interrupted them at that moment, bringing them back to reality.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've begun our initial descent into the London area, and now ask that you return to your seats if you are up and about and remain seated with your seatbelts fastened for the remainder of the flight. Flight attendants will be coming around to pick up any cups or other items you may have collected during the flight and will be handing out entry forms. Remember that as the first port of entry into the UK, all passengers will be required to pass through immigration and customs regardless of your final destination. We will be on the ground in about 35 minutes. We thank you for flying British Airways today. We hope you had a pleasant flight."

"Pleasant doesn't quite cover it, I'd say," Tom said cheekily, sneaking in one last kiss before moving away—as much as the small space allowed him—to clean himself up and pull up his trousers. As before, he sat down on the toilet, to give Sybil a bit of room to redress and slip out as discreetly as she could.

As she walked back to her seat, unable to contain her smile, she thanked the heavens for there being two toilets in the first class cabin—for surely had there been only one, a queue might have formed given how long she and Tom had been in there this last time. As she turned to sit, she caught sight of Edna, who was now coming down the aisle.

When she got to Sybil's row, she let out a big sigh. "Again? Well, looking at him, I can't say I blame you."

Sybil laughed, then bent down to pick up her and Tom's drink cups and hand them to Edna.

"So how long have you two been together?" Edna asked. "I can only assume it's been a long while if you have to go to these lengths to keep it interesting."

Sybil bit her lip and, seeing Tom now coming toward them, answered, "It feels like it was only yesterday."


	8. Smooth Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been to London, but don't know the city well enough to discuss neighborhoods and public transit with any kind of authority. I made things as vague as possible, but apologies for any residents/natives who see anything that's absurdly wrong. I am just having a bit of fun here.

Once they were both back in their seats, Tom and Sybil immediately snuggled up together. There was an unspoken intimacy between them now that hadn't been there before. As intense as the sex in the lavatory had been the first time, the second time had been doubly so, as the depth of their emotions multiplied. Both of them felt lit from the inside by the feelings that had grown in them over the course of the flight and that had bubbled over the top, first as they argued and then as they "made up."

Pulling her tightly against him, Tom said, "You'll think me crazy for saying it, but I almost don't want this plane to land."

Sybil giggled. "I do think you're crazy."

Tom stuck his lower lip out in a small pout. "Well, you don't have to agree so heartily."

Sybil laughed again. Pulling away so she could look him in the eye, she said, "I only say that because I want to get into a real bed with you and away from all these people, including our dear friend Edna."

Tom laughed. "The lady makes an excellent point."

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't jump on another plane with you. You know, once we've had our fill of flat, cushiony surfaces."

"Oh, shall we plan our next holiday?" He asked jokingly.

"Obviously, we do best on long flights. Somewhere in the Far East or Africa."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "That's rather ambitious. Are you being serious?"

"Of course, I am!"

Tom laughed. "I guess I'll have to start saving up. We're not all aristocrats, you know."

Sybil rolled her eyes, but smiled. "It doesn't have to be this year, I suppose—or we could do a road trip!"

"After the time we've had today, shagging in a car sounds positively conventional."

Sybil laughed. "Would you believe I've never done it in one before?"

"Really? Backseats are cliché because everyone's done it in one before."

"I told you I was a boring person," Sybil said, with a shy shrug.

"Well, then, that makes two of us because I actually haven't had sex in a car either."

"So we have that to look forward to as well."

Tom leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. "I shall be very happy to be very boring with you."

After she pulled away, Sybil leaned back on his shoulder and faced forward, content in a way she hadn't been with herself or her life in quite some time. "Tom?" she whispered, without moving to face him.

"Yes?"

"I'm still not sure what possessed me to do it, but I'm really glad I kissed you at the bar last night."

"I'm glad I paid for your beer."

He took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers. Leaning back into his seat, he closed his eyes and thanked whatever force had pulled them in the same direction. Tom didn't know what would happen after the plane landed, but in this moment, he felt happy, a happiness he had not believed would ever be available to him. He didn't know whether it would last, but getting to experience it for a short while was enough.

As the plane made its slow descent into London's airspace, the lights of the city became visible in the night sky outside Sybil's window, but she didn't dare look. Doing so would require letting go of Tom and leaning away from him. That was the last thing she wanted to do. On the contrary, each dip in the plane's elevation made her want to hold him even tighter. Starting to feel the plane's movement in the pit of her stomach, an irrational fear washed over her. The bond they had shared in the space of a few hours in a kind of forced confinement suddenly felt very fragile when she thought of the real world, the one beyond the doors of the plane, encroaching upon them again.

Wanting to hear his voice to reassure herself, Sybil picked her head up off his shoulder and turned to him again, but before any words came out of her mouth, the captain spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have begun our final descent into London's Heathrow Airport. Please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and any carry-on luggage you may have opened during the flight is once again stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Please turn off all electronic devices until we are safely parked at the gate. You may make use of your mobile phones once the plane has landed as we are taxing to the gate. It's been a pleasure flying with you. We know you have a choice in air travel and we thank you for choosing British Airways. Flight attendants please prepare for landing."

After the captain signed off, Tom turned to Sybil to hear what she was about to say, but instead she leaned over and kissed him softly and chastely on the lips. He smiled as she pulled away, and they snuggled together again and closed their eyes. When the airplane's wheels hit the ground, the jolt opened their eyes again, and it was, for a fleeting moment, as if they'd woken up from an hours-long dream to the startling realization that this was reality and in reality people didn't fall in love in just a handful of hours.

They sat up slightly awkwardly and moved to gather their bags as the airplane taxied to the gate. Sybil turned on her mobile phone and immediately saw a message from her sister, Edith.

_I'm in the car park. Ring when you're off the plane. -E_

Sybil turned to Tom and saw that he was looking at his messages as well. She smiled as he yawned and put his mobile back in his pocket.

"Nothing like eight hours of sitting for making one tired," Sybil said.

"That and three hours of sleep," Tom replied. Then, scratching his head, he added, "And there's still the Tube ride home. Remind me never to fly before noon again."

Sybil smiled and bit her lip. "Do you want a lift?" She asked tentatively. "My sister Edith's come to pick me up."

Tom hesitated, suddenly not sure whether invading her space to this extent—and forcing an explanation to her sister at this early point—was such a good idea. In front of him, he noticed the passengers starting to file out, so he quickly stood up and stepped into the aisle. He motioned for Sybil to go ahead of him, which she did. Silently, they walked out of the airplane, through the jetway and into the airport itself. They walked side-by-side for several hundred feet before Tom took Sybil by the elbow and gently led her toward an empty gate area.

"So, um . . ." He trailed off, feeling more and more nervous as the crowds of passengers from their plane walked by.

Sybil bit her lip. "Yeah?"

That tiny gesture that she'd done dozens of times on the plane overwhelmed him, and he wondered whether—after so much so soon—a bit of separation might not be what they both needed to get their bearings before taking on an actual relationship.

"I was thinking, um . . . I think I'll just take the express into the city."

"Oh, OK," Sybil said, hoping the relief she could hear in her own voice was not so apparent to him. After she'd asked the question, and on their way out into the airport, she'd begun to panic as she considered what she would tell her sister about this perfect stranger she was inviting into her car. She wanted Tom to know Edith, eventually. Mary, too. And her parents. But the suddenness of it after she'd offered him the ride freaked her out a bit.

Tom did notice her shoulders relax a bit after he spoke, but the truth was he wasn't put off by it. He was relieved himself that she hadn't felt brushed off and that even in this sudden case of nerves, their feelings remained in sync.

"That's probably best, anyway," Sybil said, after a moment. "I'm rubbish at lying and I don't know how Edith would have felt about having you in the car when I just met you yesterday."

Tom smiled. "We'll have to come up with some sort of story, because I'm not sure anyone I know will believe this."

Sybil's smile faded. "I'm not sure I believe it."

Tom sighed. "Me neither."

Not sure how to fill the sudden silence, Tom crouched down and opened his rucksack. He took out a notebook and a pen and wrote down his information: name, mobile number, email address, and his street address. When he finished, he stood and handed it to her.

"I hope I hear from you, but I won't hate you if you don't," he said quietly.

Sybil took the paper with a small smile, not bothering to look at it before she dropped it in her handbag. "I'll hate myself."

"I just mean that . . . if, um, when you step back into your life, you have a change of heart, it's OK."

"I won't, but maybe we should give it a week, you know, to let things sink in."

Tom smiled. "Sounds good."

"So, we'll make plans next weekend, then?" Sybil asked tentatively.

"I'd love nothing more."

Sybil clutched her bag tighter. "I suppose I should be off."

Tom stuck out his hand. "It was really remarkable meeting you Lady Sybil Crawley."

Sybil smiled widely and blushed as she took his hand and shook it. "You too, Mr. Tom Branson."

They let go their hands and she stepped away. She'd walked about thirty feet when she looked back. Tom hadn't moved, but seeing Sybil's eyes again, he smiled and waved. Sybil did the same. Then, she turned again and, this time, kept walking without looking back.

When she'd stepped out of the terminal, Sybil took a deep breath of chilly London air. She exchanged a series of texts with Edith, then headed over to where Edith was parked. When Sybil found her, Edith was curled up in the front seat reading.

Seeing Sybil through the window, Edith smiled and unlocked the car. Sybil tossed her bag in the back seat and climbed in next to Edith.

"So how was it?" Edith asked, as she adjusted herself and started the car.

Sybil smiled in a way Edith couldn't quite decipher. "Life changing."

Edith arched her eyebrows. "How so?"

"I don't know yet."

Edith shot Sybil a puzzled expression, causing Sybil to laugh. For the rest of the ride home, Sybil proceeded to fill in the details of her visit with Gwen, not leaving anything out until the night of St. Patrick's Day.

"So did you go out last night?" Edith asked. "I've heard St. Patrick's Day in the States is legend."

"We did go out. It was . . . legendary is a good word," Sybil said laughing to herself. "I, um, I sort of met someone."

" _Sort of_ met someone?"

"Well, I did. He was—is rather perfect, actually."

"Too bad it was in Chicago."

"That's the funny thing . . . he lives here."

Edith stopped the car in front of Sybil's walk-up and let out a long sigh. "You always did have the luck of the Irish."

Edith laughed seeing a bright blush come over her sister's cheeks. "Do you want me to come in so you can tell me all about him?" Edith asked.

"I'm a bit knackered. I had to wake with the sun to make the flight. I'm likely going to fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed, but do you want to have dinner this week? My treat for picking me up so late and driving through all that traffic."

"You know I love driving, but yes. Though it'll have to be before Thursday. I'm in Paris for the weekend."

"Edith, do you ever wish you could go back in time and tell yourself your life is going to turn out OK?"

Edith laughed. "How far back are we talking?"

Sybil thought for a moment. "Honestly, I think for me, yesterday morning would be enough."

Edith raised her eyebrows. "Wow! I really do want to hear about him now."

Sybil blushed again. "I'll ring you tomorrow."

With that, she stepped out of the car and climbed the steps up to her flat. Once inside, Sybil dumped her bags on the floor just inside the door and threw herself on the sofa and thought about everything she'd been through with Tom in such a short amount of time.

_I miss him._

She'd been the one who'd suggested waiting a spell before they saw each other again, a suggestion she now deeply regretted. The nerves that sprouted in those first moments outside of the plane now long forgotten and replaced by a deep longing.

After lying there for a few minutes, Sybil lifted herself up and walked back over to her bags and dragged them into her room to unpack. When she finished, it was nearly midnight. She was about to change for bed when she noticed her handbag. She walked over to it and pulled out Tom's information to text him that she was home.

That was when she saw his address.

**XXX**

Tom had watched Sybil walk away until she was out of sight.

Even before she disappeared into the crowd he missed her.

After he could no longer make out her head among the teeming crowd, he walked over to a nearby loo. He used the facilities, cleaned himself up and splashed some water on his face. He made his way to the express train that would take him into Paddington Station, from whence he'd transfer to his home stop.

On the ride he thought about Sybil and briefly questioned his decision to put the onus of keeping in touch entirely on her. He could have easily asked for her information when he gave his over, but the truth was that he wanted any future interaction between them to be entirely up to her. It's true that most people fall in love with people who are strangers to them when they meet, and the manner in which two lovers become essential to one another is unique each time it happens. But even so the circumstances under which Tom and Sybil had met were odder than usual. He wanted her to be absolutely sure about moving forward, and he wanted to give her the room to do it at her own pace.

When Tom emerged from the tube it was nearly midnight. There was activity on the streets, but it was quiet, just enough to make the streets feel alive, but not so much that it felt like life was leaving you behind—the usual for his neighborhood. He smiled. He liked it here. It was normally much, much more than he could reasonably afford, but his editor, Michael, had sublet it to him at a reduced price when the original renter had skipped town unexpectedly.

Since he and Molly had broken up and Tom had moved out of their flat, he'd been a bit of a nomad, crashing here and there with friends, taking short-term leases. Tom wasn't bothered by the impermanency of it, actually finding a bit of romance in it—a directionless writer living by his wits and out of his duffel bag. This particular flat was something of a special find. It was a small but airy studio with high ceilings, on the top floor of an old three story building with no lift, so the climb was a bit much after he'd been to the pub with friends, but it gave him access to the roof, which was nice on crisp, clear nights like this one. It was the perfect place for someone with few furnishings to his name. Tom had exactly three: his bed, an old writing desk he'd bought at a flee market and his typewriter. The sofa and TV belonged to the flat, and generally speaking were not used often.

Michael had been in a bind at the time he rented it to Tom, but the terms of the original lease were going to be up in a couple of months, at which point, it was likely he was going to start asking for market price again. Michael would joke to Tom that if Tom's book became a best-seller, he'd have no problem with the rent, but such goading wasn't making the writing process an easier for Tom.

Stepping up to the building now, Tom thought about what he'd have to do to make the place presentable for Sybil. He didn't suppose she would care that he lived rather sparsely, but he also didn't want her to mistake that sparseness for an unwillingness to put down roots. He'd find a way to buy all the furniture in the world if it meant he could have her.

He was thinking of calling one of his sisters about possibly helping him redecorate the place when he spotted someone sitting just outside his door as he was coming up the last set of stairs.

It was Sybil, wearing a grin like the world was at her feet.

"What are you doing here?"

She stood and shrugged as he approached her, his keys dangling precariously from his fingers. "I suggested waiting a week to see each other again," she said.

"You did."

"It was a bad idea."

"What makes you so sure of that?" he asked, dropping his rucksack on the ground and pulling her into him.

"I live on the opposite side of the street."

Tom's eyes widened in delighted surprise. "Are you serious?"

Sybil nodded. "I think someone up there is trying to tell us something."

"We best pay attention," he whispered just before capturing her lips in a kiss.

After a moment, Tom pulled away to unlock the door, then quickly pulled her back into a kiss and into the flat at the same time. They stumbled across the floor and onto his bed, falling with a contented sigh.

"Do you think we might have met eventually, if we hadn't in Chicago?" Sybil asked.

"I'm a bit too tired and overwhelmed to think straight at the moment," he said.

Sybil laughed, and between fits of yawning and giggles and snogging, they managed to undress and bury themselves under the covers.

Laying facing each other, Sybil said quietly, "I know I'm incredibly tired, but I think this might be the most comfortable bed in human existence."

"It only feels like that because we're in it together."

"In it together," she repeated in a whisper. "I like that."

Bleary eyed, Tom watched as she closed her eyes and with a small smile on her lips. He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her face and put his hand over hers in the space between them.

Then he closed his eyes.

And just like that, they were asleep.


	9. 10 Weeks Later

 

Hearing a knock on the door, Sybil quickly ran to open it and found a tall, lanky redhead on the other side, sweaty and red-faced from exertion.

"Hi, Alfred."

Still trying to catch his breath and leaning against the old desk sitting behind him in the hall, Alfred merely waved his hand.

Sybil smiled. Looking around she asked, "Where's Tom?"

Alfred pointed behind him with his thumb, and Sybil leaned over to look. Sure enough, she could see part of a leg sticking out from behind the desk.

"Hi, love," she heard Tom say. "Just having a bit of a rest."

"Is this the last piece, then?" Sybil asked.

"Yes," Alfred said. "I wouldn't have thought getting it down those bloody stairs was going to be harder than it was getting it up there in the first place. Thank god we only had one flight up to you."

"I don't suppose Tom told you I offered to pay for movers," Sybil said.

Tom called out from his spot on the floor. "What was the point when I am only moving across the bloody street, besides he owed me and he knows it!"

Sybil laughed. "We'll take you out tonight, Alfred, _and_ pay for your pints. How's that?"

Alfred turned toward Tom and said, "She's too good for you, mate."

Tom stood up slowly and said with a sigh. "I know."

Tom and Sybil looked at each other and smiled for a long moment. A little over two months later, their feelings still felt as intense as they had at the Chicago pub where they'd first met, and on that long airplane ride during which they'd fallen in love.

Alfred spoke up, breaking their stare.

"Well, let's get this heavy bastard all the way in so I can get out of here and you two can have your first proper shag as flatmates."

"For fuck's sake, Alfred!" Tom exclaimed.

"What? I know you're both thinking it!"

Sybil laughed, and stood aside as Tom and his best friend carried Tom's old writing desk into Sybil's flat.

As the two men made their way toward what was formerly Sybil's guest room but was now Tom's writing room, Sybil's phone rang. She ran into the kitchen to get it and smiled seeing that it was her sister Mary.

"Hello," Sybil answered.

"Hello, darling, how's the big move going?"

"They're just about finished."

"The offer for dinner at our place still stands."

"It's lovely of you to offer, but we've promised Tom's friend Alfred we'd take him out to the pub as a thank you for helping. Perhaps tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"Thank you for welcoming him. I think he still feels a bit intimidated by the family and Downton."

Mary laughed. "Don't thank me. Thank, Matthew. He loves Tom. I think it's a full-on mancrush."

Sybil laughed. "Well, neither of you has gotten out much since George was born. It's nice that he'll have a friend that lives close by."

"It's nice that you'll have sex whenever you want now."

"Mary!"

"Oh, please, Sybil, after the stories you've told me with Tom, what else is there to expect?!"

Sybil bit her lip, glad that her sister couldn't see the blush rushing into her cheeks.

"It _will_ be nice to have him here," she said finally. "Especially after how long it took me to convince him."

Behind her, Sybil heard Tom and Alfred come back into the main room. "Mary, it looks like they've finished, so I best be going."

"All right, darling, don't forget to call about tomorrow."

"I won't."

After they said their goodbyes and hung up, Sybil grabbed two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, opened them and brought them into the main room.

"Goddess, this one," Alfred said, taking one.

"And spoken for, thank you very much," Tom said after taking a long swig.

Sybil smiled. "What about that girl, you were telling us about last week?" She asked.

"Ivy? She's all right."

"Ring her and have her come along tonight," Sybil said.

"But I'm still in the 'trying to impress her' stage. If she comes along, then I can't get properly pissed."

"Love is nothing if not sacrifice," Tom said in a mock serious tone.

Alfred smirked. "Is that what all the heavy lifting was today?"

Sybil laughed. "That was only the beginning."

"And I think that's my cue," Alfred said, taking the last drink of his beer.

"Thanks again, mate," Tom said.

"Let's just hope you'll not be needing my services any time soon. That's four moves in two years."

"Don't worry, Alfred. I plan on chaining him down for a good long while."

After Alfred said his goodbyes, Tom pulled Sybil into him, not caring how sweaty he was.

"So about that first shag . . ."

"You don't honestly think I'm letting you in my bed in this state?"

"Come on, Syb," he whined, and started kissing the side of her neck.

Sybil closed her eyes, enjoying his ministrations, but remained resolute. "No, not before a proper bath."

Tom pulled back saw the twinkle in her eye, so let her pull him into the bathroom and her claw-foot bathtub.

Some time later, after a long joint soak in the tub, during which Sybil sat behind her very grateful boyfriend and gave him a back massage, and after they'd properly christened the bed as _theirs—twice_ —Sybil and Tom were laying in each other's arms. Comforted by the weight of Sybil's head on his chest, Tom was staring at the ceiling and thinking about how happy he was.

Abruptly, Sybil sat up. "I almost forgot. I have a welcome home gift for you."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Wait here."

Sybil rolled out from under the covers and off the bed, and padded over to her closet. She took out a small box wrapped in bright green paper.

She came back over to the bed and handed it to Tom who'd sat up a bit. He took the package and tore the wrapping off. It was a black picture frame and when he turned it over, he saw the green sticker with white lettering that she'd slapped on him the night they'd met.

_Kiss me, I'm Irish!_

He looked at Sybil incredulous. "How?"

Sybil smiled. "The jacket you were wearing that night, and on the plane was in one of the boxes you brought over last week. When I unpacked it, I noticed it in the side pocket."

Tom looked down at the sticker and smiled again. "That's amazing." Looking to her again, eyes misting over, he added in soft voice, "Oh, my darling, I do love you so much."

Sybil smiled. "And I love you."

They leaned in and shared a long, languid kiss. After a few minutes, Tom pulled away and set the frame on the bed's headboard above them.

"So it'll serve as a reminder," he said, pulling her into him again.

"A reminder to you or me?" Sybil asked.

"To you regarding how often you should kiss me," he said, making her laugh. "And to me of what a lucky bastard I am."


	10. Three months later

**** "So . . . good birthday so far?" Tom asked as he and Sybil walked back to their flat hand in hand.

Sybil nodded and bit her lip contain her grin. "I do hope the best is yet to come though," she said suggestively.

Tom smiled and dropped her hand in order to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her into him.

The two had spent an evening drinking at their neighborhood pub with Edith, Mary, Matthew, Alfred and his now steady girlfriend, Ivy. Matthew and Tom had become fast friends since Tom had come into Sybil's life, so although Mary was never one for pubs or beer, she relented more often than usual now. Today being Sybil's birthday, convincing her was relatively easy. Edith, for her part, enjoyed anything that took her out of the wine and cocktails millieu of her magazine job. And nobody ever had to convince Alfred to have a pint, certainly not when the occassion was celebrating the birthday of the girl who had made his best mate as happy as Alfred had ever seen him.

The day before, Sybil and Tom had returned to London from Yorkshire, where they'd spent a few days with Sybil's parents. Over the course of the now five months that Tom and Sybil had been together, Robert and Cora had more or less happily welcomed Tom into the family's fold. That is, they did so _after_ initially voicing misgivings regarding how quickly the relationship had progressed and especially how quickly the two had moved in together after meeting for the first time.

But any tension stemming from that was behind them. Tom was getting on so well with them, in fact, that he invited Robert for a golf outing while he and Sybil were up north for her birthday, something that rather shocked Sybil. While they were gone, Cora made a joke about Tom using the opportunity to be alone with Robert to ask for Sybil's hand. Sybil laughed immediately and told her mother how unlikely it was that Tom would follow such a tradition or ask Robert about marrying Sybil before asking Sybil herself.

Cora only smiled in response, which led Sybil to say, "Don't tell me that you'd be happy with an engagement five months in, when you were so not happy about us living together after two."

Again, Cora didn't say anything, rolling her eyes and smiling.

It made Sybil wonder whether her mother knew something she didn't. And, of course, once the prospect of marriage to Tom had a chance to seed in her brain, Sybil couldn't get the idea of a proposal on her birthday out of her head—however unlikely that might be at this point in their relationship.

The day itself had been special. He made her favorite breakfast and brought it in to bed for her on a tray. They'd gone on a ride on the London Eye—one of Sybil's favorite things to do, regardless of its touristy nature. Lastly, they had an early dinner and drinks with some of her favorite people.

But so far there had been no proposal, nor any sign that one was coming, and seeing that it was almost 10 p.m., time was running short.

Enjoying the feel of his arm around her as they walked home, Sybil tried to put any thoughts of engagements and marriages out of her head.

"So what is in store for the rest of the evening?" She asked playfully as they walked up the steps to their flat.

"What makes you think there is more?" He responded with a laugh. "Haven't you had enough?"

Sybil turned to face him just as they'd arrived at their door. "I'll never have enough of you," she said pulling him into a kiss.

After a minute or so, Tom pulled away and whispered, "Happy birthday, my darling." He opened the door and as soon as they walked in, Sybil saw the tiny lights hanging over their breakfast table, as well as the bottle of champagne chilling and the arrangement of red roses.

She turned to him with surprise written all over her face, "How did you manage this?"

"You know earlier when Edith was late to the pub and I offered to go pick her up?"

"Let me guess, her car is fine?"

Tom nodded his head with a smile. "Even if it wasn't, do you think she'd let me touch it? She knows more about engines than I do."

Sybil laughed and stepped into his arms. "It's lovely."

"And the best _is_ yet to come," he said pulling her over to the table, where Sybil could see that he'd also set up a tray of chocolate covered strawberries, a small chocolate cake that Sybil recognized from her favorite bakery with one candle on it and a small neatly wrapped box. Any and all efforts Sybil had made regarding the need to convince herself that Tom was not, in fact, going to propose on this particular night went out the window.

He opened the champagne and poured them each a glass, then held his up for a toast. "To you," he said simply.

"To us," she replied, clinking her glass with his.

Sybil looked down to the table and stuck her finger in the icing of the cake, which made him laugh. She held up her finger and with a wink of his eye, he pulled her finger into his mouth to lick the icing off.

"Why don't you cut us each a piece while I open my present—assuming I am allowed to open it now?" She asked, feeling her heart start to race.

"First we should light your candle," he said.

"You're not going to sing, are you?" she asked skeptically.

Tom laughed. "I'll spare you."

He walked over to the cupboard and took out a box of matches, as well as two plates, two spoons and a knife. He lit the candle and held up the cake to Sybil. "Make a wish."

Sybil closed her eyes. _I wish to be with Tom for the rest of my life._

She opened her eyes and blushed a bit on seeing the love on his face over the light of the small candle. She quickly blew it out.

Tom set down the cake and set to cutting it. "Open it if you want," he said, pointing to the small gift box.

Sybil's brow furrowed. If this was what she thought it was, then wouldn't there be a bit more . . . theatrics?

Biting her lip, she ripped open the paper and saw that it was, in fact, a jewelry box, but when she opened it, instead of an engagement ring, there was a pair of small turquoise and white topaz earrings inside. She recognized them immediately from a vendor on Portobello Road. She remembered the afternoon weeks ago when she'd pointed them out to Tom and immediately felt silly for the momentary disappointment she'd felt in seeing them now. She looked over at him. He was looking back at her with an expectant smile.

"I love them," she said quietly. She took the plates he was holding onto which he had served the cake and set them down on the table, then pulled him into a hug. "I love you," she added, whispering the words into his neck, and she shivered as she felt his lips on her neck saying the words back to her.

Pulling away, she said, "I'm just going to run to the loo for a minute."

Tom tilted his head. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, just want to freshen up and put these on, OK?"

"OK."

Sybil took the earrings and walked over to the bathroom, letting out a big sigh as she closed the door. She walked over to the mirror and looked at herself. She was now 24 years old, she was in the best relationship of her life and she'd let her mother get under her skin with one innocous comment. They were only five months in. Sure, Sybil already presumed that Tom was her "endgame," but why the rush?

_Why the need to marry at all?_

She thought about all the ways Tom showed her he loved her everyday. How often he'd refer to their future, their children—sometimes jokingly, sometimes in all seriousness. She thought about the face he made when he tried tofu for the first time, despite her insistence that he didn't have to. She thought about all of things that had convinced her, even in this short span of time they'd been together, that she never wanted to be with anyone else.

That she wanted to marry him.

_What's stopping_ me _from asking?_ She thought.

_Nothing._

With a smile, she changed her earrings for the new ones and came back out into the main room, where he was sitting on the floor legs splayed out in front of him next to the sofa, with the cake and champagne on the coffee table.

She came over and kneeled in front of him. "Can I ask you something?"

"So, you like the earrings?" He asked, ignoring her question.

"What? Oh, yes," she said turning her head both ways so he could see them hanging from her ears. "But actually, Tom, I have a questi—"

"Do you think they'll go with this?"

There was the ring.

Sybil looked from his hand to his grinning face back to his hand.

He moved so he was kneeling on both knees in front of her, mimicking her pose.

"I know it's really soon, but I want to ask so much, I'm jumping out of my skin. Will you marry me?"

Sybil looked up to him again, tears welling in her eyes. "Will _you_ marry _me_?"

He laughed through his own tears and they both said "yes" at the same time.

**XXX**

A while later, cuddled up naked on the sofa, after cake and champagne and celebratory sex, Sybil asked Tom, "Did you tell my father you were going to do this?"

"Why in the world would you think I would do that before I asked you?"

Sybil laughed. "No reason."


End file.
